


The Motion of the Moon

by orphan_account



Category: Tsuritama
Genre: M/M, Mind Control, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 17:19:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a distant threat looms, bonds are tested and secrets are revealed. This is a direct sequel to 'A Wandering Wave' and contains one-sided Urara/Yuki.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Make Me Dream

**Author's Note:**

> This is the direct sequel to 'A Wandering Wave' and I strongly advise you read that story first. This story is also completed and will be uploaded when I have the time to.
> 
> Please note the warnings on this. All of the warnings from the previous story carry over. If I warned for it, it’s either going to happen or has already happened and will be referenced accordingly. There’s quite a lot of (eventual) violence and gore in this. …There’s also a boat party and fun group shenanigans. …This is a strange fic.
> 
> …Enjoy?
> 
> Also, quick formatting reminder: long breaks are POV change, short breaks are scene breaks, italics are for emphasis, flashback, or words unsaid.

Haru told their classmates that Urara went back home. They pouted and milled about in groups, muttering about how rude it was to leave without saying goodbye. Despite how shy he was, Urara had left quite the impression.

Yuki stayed home that first week, feigning illness. He couldn’t stand the thought of someone approaching him and politely asking about Urara; he wouldn’t know what to say or how to react or if he would just run away, gasping for air and choking on the sudden flood. The very name made him flinch and the empty doorway of the classroom seemed _too_ empty. At any second, Urara could walk in, downcast and wringing his hands together, and introduce himself to the class once again. Akira told him, _guaranteed_ him, that it would never happen, but Yuki could envision the scene so clearly. The knot of Urara’s tie would be too big. He would blush and stammer when the teacher called on him, directing him to that empty seat beside Yuki. It hadn’t happened, but he saw it all the same.

\---

Once, Erika, bright-eyed and unaware, leaned against his desk and said, “I miss Urara. He always had the best Math notes…”

All he heard was the first part:                                                                        

_“I miss Urara.”_

He excused himself, staggered into the bathroom, closed the stall door, and threw up.

\---

Of course, people had noticed his strange behaviour. When asked, he blamed it on a cold or too much studying or too much fishing or whatever seemed most plausible and would end the conversation the quickest. On Thursdays, he talked with a counselor, but they had an altered version of the story. A friend of his had given him some drug and assaulted him. The same friend then tried to drown him. Although they helped, the counseling sessions left him drained and even more withdrawn.

D.U.C.K. had the full story. An agent, dressed immaculately in a tailored suit, had entered his hospital room, pulled up a chair, and placed a recording device where Yuki easily could see it. On the other side of the bed was his grandmother, clutching his hand and, subtly, trembling. Yuki had been warned of this visit and asked her to stay with him. No matter what happened, she would always believe him.

After a long briefing and several documents that needed to be signed, the recording device was turned on. Keito squeezed his hand encouragingly and smiled.  Carefully, he told the agent about Urara, that morning in the woods when he learned the truth, and what he remembered of their last confrontation, fumbling over the word ‘drowning’ and taking solace in the warmth of his grandmother’s hand, proof that he was _here_ and not still adrift and slowly dying.

“Once again, I apologize for pressuring you,” said the nameless agent, adjusting his dark glasses. “In order to capture JFX, we must follow AOX’s guidelines on such matters. If the extent of JFX’s crimes are not known, our negotiations with AOX will be compromised.” As if he could anticipate Yuki’s next question, he continued. “As a matter of security, we are treating JFX’s crimes based on their apparent intent. Therefore, our search has been extensive and we are employing every available agent. In our eyes, this is a breach of the Intergalactic Contract and thus the greatest offence a Visitor can commit.” He leaned forward and declared, “I promise you, he will be captured and brought to justice.”

Yuki nodded and said nothing.

“Can my grandson rest now?” Keito asked, giving the agent a disarming smile. “Yuki has had a very long and tiring day…”

Instantly, the agent was on his feet and bowing deeply. “Of course. The organization thanks you for your cooperation. We will be in contact.” The recording device folded until it fit neatly in his front pocket. He bowed again before leaving the room, placing one of his D.U.C.K. cards on the nightstand.

Keito turned to him, her smile gone. “Yuki, you didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged. “I know, but I… I thought it would help them.”

“That doesn’t mean you should push yourself so hard,” she said quietly. The light from the window fell across her face, catching the silver-grey of her hair. “Rest, Yuki.”

“Grandma, I know this wasn’t…”

She looked at him with kindness and strength and unmasked sorrow.

“This wasn’t what I expected to hear? Of course not. When I first saw that boy, I never thought him capable of…” Plainly, Yuki could see her wounds. “And I left you alone with him, didn’t I? I never knew him. I knew parts of him, the ones he wanted to show me, but I never knew what he really was.”

“Don’t do that,” he yelled, grabbing her hand and matching her unflinching gaze. “Grandma, don’t blame yourself. It wasn’t like that. None of us knew he was like that, so please don’t blame yourself. I…can’t take it.”

Smoothing his hair down, she tucked his bangs behind his ears. With only one hand free, it took awhile. He basked in the affection, the honesty of it.

“Rest, Yuki,” she said. She repeated the phrase in French, kissing his forehead.

\---

In hindsight, he had been so stupid in following Urara to the alien cave.

After the confession, his mind had gone completely blank. Enoshima, bathed in morning light and half-awake, seemed a world away. He followed blindly, dazed.

A branch whipped across his cheek and broke the skin, but he didn’t even blink, wiping the blood away with his sleeve. He saw Urara’s eyes dart around, following the motion, the line of red. He should’ve been afraid then.

It was thoughts like that which kept him up at night, which made him flinch when the counselor talked about victims blaming themselves. Stripped and sewn and resewn, Urara’s fate was a vengeful one, the one everyone but him seemed to seek.

\---

Natsuki visited just before midterms. He brought Yuki twice as many lures as expected and all of them were brand new, not the ‘used but still in good condition’ Yuki had expected. When he tried to pay for something, even just the shipping cost, Natsuki muttered something about exchange rates before tactfully changing the subject.

“I might move back here soon.”

“You shouldn’t joke about stuff like that,” Yuki said, tying one of his new lures to the line. It wasn’t the right kind for sea bass, but sometimes it was worth being obtuse about things just to get Natsuki all riled up and ranting about bait choice and water temperature and Yuki’s terrible knot tying.

“I still can’t believe you’re going to fish for _sea bass_ with that thing,” Natsuki muttered bitterly for the fourth time, adjusting his already perfectly-prepared line, “and no, I’m not joking. It’s something I’ve been considering for awhile...”

Closing his tackle box with a snap, Yuki stood and gripped his rod tightly, checking the line one last time. “Oh.”

Incredulously, Natsuki stared at him. “ _Oh_ ,” he repeated, cocking an eyebrow. “I tell you that I’m moving back here and all you have to say is ‘Oh’?”

“You’re _maybe_ moving back here,” Yuki corrected, casting. Arguing with Natsuki was never fun and rarely productive, but he really didn’t have any other choice.

“Right, whatever.” Natsuki recast and ended up a good three meters from the target. He didn’t seem to care. “You don’t have to act so _annoyed_ by it.”

“And _you_ don’t have to lie to me,” Yuki snapped, pulling back on his rod too hard. Anger had made them into a couple of amateurs, more focused on baiting each other than the bass. The heat didn’t help matters, sweat pooling between his shoulder blades and sticking to his shirt.

Natsuki was furious, but it didn’t show on his face. “And _what_ , exactly, am I lying about?”

“Why you want to move back here.”

“Oh. Right, because you _obviously_ can read my mind and know my exact reasons for everything.”

“You’re an ass.”

“And I don’t know what your problem is!” Natsuki hooked his insanely expensive, professional-grade rod to one of the shabby wooden posts and put its sleek frame down on the equally-weathered dock. Yuki wanted to tease him for it, but his mouth went dry in the face of Natsuki’s honest anger. “W-Why are you acting like this?” Natsuki stammered, hands balling into fists. “Yuki. _Yuki_?”

The reel felt very heavy. He couldn’t meet Natsuki’s gaze.

“I’m alright,” he said finally.

“Of course you are,” Natsuki replied too quickly. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

“You know why.”

It had taken weeks before Yuki could stand so close to the water. Even the lapping of the waves set him off sometimes, the gentle motion suddenly morphing into the mad churning of whitecaps and loud wind, Urara’s nails digging into his shoulder as they fell.

He hadn’t planned on telling Natsuki so bluntly, but one night over their usual videochat, he found everything just rushing out. Natsuki watched, transfixed, as he recalled everything in excruciating detail. With the D.U.C.K. agent and his grandmother, he focused on clear events and omitted how he felt and how scared or confused or _hurt_ he was. With Natsuki, even with so much distance between them, he felt strong enough to say it. _“Urara s-said that he wanted me to…” He saw Natsuki on the monitor, enraged. “H-He wanted me to suck him off,” he spat, hiding his head in shame. “He said he didn’t make me do it, but I… H-How can I know? Natsuki, I was so scared and…” He broke off, sobbing._ Hours later, Haru had crept into his room and wrapped him in a quilt, the guilt in his eyes clear.

That conversation hung between them now.

“Yuki, I…” Natsuki inhaled deeply. “You’re right.”

“I understand how you feel,” Yuki began, “but I want you to be honest with me about it. Otherwise, it’s not fair to either of us.”

“You’re right,” Natsuki repeated, quieter this time. “I…might move back. I think I need more time to make the decision.”

“Sounds good,” Yuki said. Hesitantly, he smiled. “I don’t think this new lure is working.”

“That’s because you’re an idiot who doesn’t listen to the advice of professionals,” Natsuki observed, recasting and landing perfectly on target. “Clearly, you have a lot to learn.”

“Well, I’m in the company of the Fishing Prince… What better teacher is there?”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Or what?”

“I’ll have to retaliate.”

Apparently, ‘retaliate’ translated to Natsuki trying to pin him and give him an impromptu haircut with his baiting shears, which smelled strongly of sardines. Yuki escaped relatively unscathed and with sore ribs from all the laughing he did.

\---

 “It’s not that I _don’t_ want you moving back here, but I just-”

“Yuki.” Natsuki stopped walking and leveled him with a blank stare. Neither of them caught anything that day. “You’re rambling,” he observed dryly.

“I know,” Yuki admitted. “I just want to make sure that you’re sure about things and-”

“If you keep rambling, you’re face will get all weird,” Natsuki said, completely deadpan. “If I’m seen in public with a stonefish, my reputation could be irreversibly damaged.”

“I hate your sense of humor,” Yuki mumbled, scuffing his shoe against the sidewalk. “And I’m serious about this.”

“So am I,” Natsuki said.

Yuki pouted and started up the hill, lugging his rod, tacklebox, net, and schoolbag. Always prepared, Natsuki had only his rod and small kit. A pair of expensive sunglasses pushed his wild hair out of his face. Combined with a sleek sports jacket and matching pants, he looked like a tourist. One of the vendors had tried to sell him a map of the area, which made Yuki laugh for five minutes straight.

“Sportsfishing has grown in Japan,” he declared. “It’s easier to get sponsors now than it was last year. Of course I won’t be able to stay in Enoshima all the time, but being close to home would be nice.” He paused, familiar worry-lines appearing between his brows. “I…miss my family.”

“It must be hard,” Yuki said softly, honestly. As the heat bore down, he unbuttoned the top of his school shirt and loosened his tie, letting it hang slack.

 Something shifted in the air. Natsuki was staring at him.

“I miss you, Yuki.”  

They kept walking, their strides unchanged and constant. His grip on the tacklebox was too tight. The pressure in his chest increased and hardened, but he kept walking, forcing his legs to match Natsuki’s long strides. He couldn’t look at Natsuki and smile and thank him when those words were so deeply frightening, brushing against the memory of someone else, another friend: _“I miss Urara.”_

“What happened might have made me more certain of it,” Natsuki confessed, the wind running through his hair, “but I’ve missed you for a long time.”

The heat was testing Yuki, commanding him to stop and curl up and _wither_. A little yellow shape rose ahead, peaked high in the middle: the house. If they walked faster, Natsuki wouldn’t have the time to say anything else.

In the front yard, Haru stood and waved the hose around, sending droplets over the lawn and path alike.

“Haru!” Yuki called, running ahead, bearing the weight of the tackle. “You’re supposed to water the flower beds, not the lawn. That’s what the sprinkler does.”

Haru blinked at him, not comprehending. “But if I wave the hose like this, I _am_ the sprinkler!” He demonstrated, almost hitting Natsuki with the spray. “I can even do the noise! Chee chee chee!”

“That sounds like a fax machine,” Natsuki said, carefully standing out of Haru’s reach.

Haru laughed. “What’s a fax machine?”                                                    

Yuki rolled his eyes. “An ancient relic of Earth’s past. Now, more importantly, _you_ need to stop wasting water and wash up for dinner.”

Clapping, Haru dropped the hose and enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug. “Fish! Fish!”

Natsuki had the decency to look sheepish. “We…didn’t catch anything.”

As he squeezed Yuki’s ribcage with a bit too much enthusiasm, Haru laughed. “That’s silly. You’re the Fishing Prince!”

“H-He may be t-the Fishing Prince…” After several attempts, Yuki finally got Haru to let go. “He may be the Fishing Prince,” he repeated, “but even the Prince can’t make fish appear out of thin air.”

“Not _yet_ anyways,” Natsuki added with a sour expression. “Also, please stop calling me that.”

Predictably, Haru was equal parts unwise and eager. Idly twirling the hose (which Yuki had the decency to turn off mid-hug), he took a deep breath and yelled, “Fishing Prince! Fishing Prince! Prince Fishing! Fishi-”

\---

Keito frowned.

“What is _with_ you boys and cutting each other’s hair?”

Haru ran his hands through his new pixie cut, laughing at the texture. “It’s short, it’s short!” he declared.

\---

“Now all we need is Akira and the gang’s all together again!”

Dressed in a bright green and orange sundress, Coco’s wardrobe continued to be the brightest in all of Enoshima and possibly Japan, provided George Ace wasn’t visiting at the time. A multitude of ornate pins were tangled in her hair, forming a makeshift plastic halo around her head. She appeared to have a twig stuck in there somewhere and when Haru mentioned it, she glared him into submission.

“Worldsavers united,” Natsuki said sarcastically, clinking his juice glass against hers.

“Hmmm. You should act more respectfully, Mr. Fishing Paparazzi.” For the sake of Coco’s long hair, no one corrected her. “I was promised fish and there was no fish. I’m tempted to ask for a refund!”

From the other end of the table, Keito giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. “No refunds!” she declared.

“Coco, help me!” Equal parts unwise and eager, Haru had volunteered to do the dishes and, while clearly regretting the decision, remained wrist-deep in soapy water. “Coco, the bubbles feel funny!”

Of course, Yuki couldn’t let the poor alien suffer alone. His fingers were pruney and the front of his shirt was soaked from Haru’s constant splashing. “Stay focused, Haru. We’re almost done,” Yuki said, scrubbing the front of a frying pan. “If you want more bubbles, pour some of the dish soap in.”

The way Haru’s eyes lit up at the prospect of more bubbles should’ve been a big flashing warning sign. Yuki, engrossed in his work, didn’t notice _how_ much dish soap Haru was using until the bubbles suddenly spilled over onto the floor and Haru, with an entire beard made of bubbles, enveloped him in a crushing hug and squealed, “Bubbles! Bubbles!”

Keito, the head of the household, was extremely helpful. She clapped and said, “That’s a wonderful beard, Haru.”

Coco grimaced. “Please don’t encourage him.”

Keito smiled. “It goes well with his new haircut.”

The mention of his hair sent Haru whirling across the room. “You should feel my head, Coco! It’s all short now!”

Staring at the expanse of clumsily-cut blond, she began to violently shake her head. “I’d rather not,” she said, slowly backing away when Haru tried to climb into her lap, his bubble beard still (mostly) intact. “ _Haru_ ,” she warned in her best Sibling voice. The warning went unheeded and soon the siblings were rolling around the floor while Keito serenely sipped her juice and asked Natsuki what he thought of America.

The commotion almost made Yuki forget the missing person, the slip of pale blue who would come thudding down the stairs any second, dragging his schoolbag and flopping down at the table, legs askew and awkward but his eyes, his too-bright eyes, always fixed. Behind them lurked something dark and predatory and barbed, piercing and clinging on while other fears weakened, were forgotten, and fell.

He put the clean frying pan on the counter and watched the water drain.

“I didn’t know you spoke English,” Natsuki said.

“I’m a little out of practice,” Keito admitted sheepishly.

“The slang is really difficult,” Natsuki said and she nodded in agreement.

“Yes. I remember being at the JFK airport in-”

Yuki watched the water drain and tried to calm himself. Any second now, the floorboards upstairs would creak and Urara, blearily-eyed but still so sharp, would let his schoolbag hit each of the steps, thud thud _thud_ , as he came down for the morning. The water pooling on the floor would make him strong, giving him access to Yuki’s mind and his body and-

“Grandma, the mop is in the laundry room, right?”

His interruption startled her, disrupting her discussion with Natsuki. Yuki knew he was being rude. He also knew that she would forgive him.

“Yes, I think so,” she said.

“Someone could slip on all that water,” he muttered as he passed, avoiding Natsuki’s gaze. Still arguing, Haru squealed as Coco tickled him.

“Honestly, Haru,” Coco said, standing up while Haru lay on the floor and laughed. “You’re so immature sometimes.”

“ _Sometimes_?” Natsuki repeated dubiously, raising an eyebrow.

She sighed and nudged Haru with her foot. “I can’t believe we’re related.”

The laughter continued as Yuki, mop in hand, tried to clean around Haru. The blond wiggled and laughed even harder, tears streaming down his face. “It’s like a car wash!” he said. Yuki taunted him and Haru continued to laugh. The staircase was quiet, but that could change instantaneously. Tension made his retorts stiff and his smile strained. He echoed Coco: “You’re so immature sometimes.” Someone was still missing from the room, a pale wisp of blue with too-long legs and hands that clung as they fell, spiraling down towards the mass of blackened blue.

\---

_“I…see all this water and I feel it pulsing inside my head.”_

\---

_“I…could hurt so many, couldn’t I?”_

\---

Their little dinner party winded down around eight. Coco was the first to leave, yawning widely as she dodged one of Haru’s famous hugs. “Thank you for the lovely evening,” she said having memorized basic etiquette. Although a little stiff, her delivery was passable. Her biggest infraction was yawning through ‘evening’, making it more like ‘eveeeeeeening’.

As Natsuki pulled on his coat, he turned to Yuki and smiled. “Walk me down the hill?” he asked.

With Haru and Keito standing right behind him, Yuki couldn’t refuse; it would be too suspicious. He stepped into the nearest pair of shoes, some purple sandals Haru wore in the backyard, and followed Natsuki out the door.

As expected, Natsuki didn’t just cut to the chase. They wandered amicably together, breathing in the night air. Natsuki commented on something Haru did and got Yuki to laugh. Yuki repeated some pun in English he’d heard on TV and Natsuki, bewildered yet hysterical, asked him where he learned such language.

“The real question is,” Yuki said with a sly grin, “where did _you_ learn such language.”

 Although he struggled, Natsuki managed to control his sporadic chuckling. “W-Wait. Don’t tell me. _You_ actually understand what you just said?”

“I _do_ speak English,” he replied, relishing the look of complete shock on Natsuki’s face.

“Seriously? _Seriously_? This whole time I was stuck with _Yamada_ as a tutor when I could’ve had you?!”

“If Yamada was your tutor, then that explains your mastery of swear words and innuendo.”

“I should be mad at you,” Natsuki admitted, “but I can’t. I’m laughing too hard. Where did you learn to talk like that?”

“I watch too much TV,” Yuki said, contemplating the night sky. “Also, what I just told you is a secret.”

“…That you watch too much TV?”

Yuki swatted the back of his head. “Don’t be stupid. Whenever people find out I know English, they send every friend and relative and distant acquaintance to practice with me. It gets really annoying.” Although he was fairly confident in understanding English, finicky pronunciation and his thick accent made teaching difficult. There was the added bonus of his anxiety issues, which always picked the worse time to flare up.

Jostled, Natsuki’s expensive sunglasses had fallen over his eyes, partially obscuring them. He snorted. “Is that _actually_ why you never told me? You thought I’d send Sakura to your door with some copy of ‘English for Beginners’?”

Yuki took a deep breath.

“I never told you,” he began, “because I thought I’d be a bad teacher and would make things difficult for you. The last thing I’d want is to disappoint you so badly and I knew Akira wouldn’t mind, so I…” Somehow he had gotten onto the subject of English and now here he was, spilling his guts to the one person he needed distance from. He was stupid. His thoughts were a swirling mess. He needed to stop. “I’m sorry,” he said, small under the canopy of bright stars.

At the dinner table, Natsuki had that knowing look, the kind that cleaved right through a person. Natsuki had brought him here to reveal what he had seen, to hold Yuki by the shoulders and plead and ask if Yuki was deeply, truly, _honestly_ okay. Clear as spring rain, the answer fell around them, spilled out and ran down the street, seeping into cracks and welling up, spilling over.

Despite how much he hurt, he rarely broke down like this. He wouldn’t burden those around him, those he held dear.

Natsuki’s sunglasses slipped off his nose and clattered, hitting a crack in the pavement and spinning off somewhere.

“Calm down,” he said, wrapping his arms around Yuki’s shoulders and holding him close against his chest. Natsuki’s heartbeat was frantic. “You are going to be alright,” he whispered in English.

As Natsuki held him, he realized how desperately he wanted to say here, encircled by loyal arms and deeply, unconditionally loved.

\---

Just days after Natsuki first arrived in Indiana, seven months into his total time overseas, he was interviewed by a popular English sporting blog. Several _extremely_ flattering photographs of Natsuki topped the page, which made Yuki scratch his head and double-check that he hadn’t accidentally clicked on an idol fansite or some weird fishermen-oriented dating service.

The interview was fairly standard and kept the language simple, free from the reams of online jargon that left Yuki scrambling for an online translator or messaging the ever-irritable Akira. For anything involving the media, Natsuki hired a translator. His English was decent, but interviewers tended to speak very quickly and, more importantly, he wanted to be sure that he understood the original question before answering.

Ever through the language barrier, Natsuki’s signature sarcasm was still there. The text interview wasn’t as charming as an audio or video one would’ve been, but Yuki could picture his self-satisfied smirk perfectly.

_‘Q: We’ve received a lot of emails on the next question! Please humor our readers, Natsuki. Do you have a special someone waiting for you back home?’_

After reading the question three times, Yuki finally connected ‘special someone’ to ‘significant other’ and blushed bright red, instinctively covered his face, and vehemently swore to send the website an anonymous but chastising email on Natsuki’s behalf. He would write the draft that evening and revise it in the morning, making sure to triple-check his spelling and grammar. Maybe he would also send Natsuki an anonymous but sympathetic email, just to let his friend know that such rudeness was not encouraged by every reader of the site.

With his plan of action in place, Yuki’s hand slowly crept back to the touchpad and, with extreme caution, he scrolled down and read the answer.

_‘A: Yes, I do. A cute redhead.’_

Yuki threw his laptop to the other side of the couch and backed away as if it had scorched him, the screen unphased and cheerfully bright, still displaying Natsuki’s response and _taunting_ him with it. How one simple sentence could be so menacing was beyond him. Natsuki _had_ to be joking, obviously. It was a joke, a harmless little joke.

Haru poked his head out of the kitchen and gave Yuki a worried look. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Y-Y-Yeah…” Yuki coughed and tried to straighten up. “I-I-I’m t-totally cool.”

“Your face is doing the thing,” Haru observed, grabbing his cheeks and pulling them in opposite directions. “Like this! Stonefish!”

“I’ll… D-Don’t worry about it, Haru. I just read something weird.”

“Okay!” Haru exclaimed and continued making increasingly-bizarre faces at Yuki. After he successfully managed to imitate a barracuda, a pufferfish, and a frog, he twirled back into the kitchen, presumably to help Keito with something.

Alone again, Yuki stared at his laptop as it perched innocently on one of the cushions. The sentence stared back at him.

“I’ll just not mention it,” he declared to the empty room. “Natsuki will never know that I read this and I will _forget_ that I read this. Perfect. Everything is perfect. Good.” He went to pick up his laptop but froze halfway, _cute redhead_ beaming back at him. “This is all some stupid joke,” he muttered, trying to muster his courage but failing at _cute_ and _redhead_.

“Yuki! You’re talking to yourself!” Haru exclaimed, bursting into the room again. His apron swirled around him in a dizzying spread of pink and green.

“I know that,” he snapped, blindly grabbing the laptop. “Stop bothering me and go help Grandma.”

Haru laughed. “Okay, okay! We’re baking cupcakes with Urara! I’m doing the frosting!”

Yuki cringed. Haru’s enthusiasm meant that each cupcake would have a mountain of frosting and as many sprinkles and candles as he could fit on top, which, given his past creations, turned out to be a lot. Sometimes Haru added things that _looked_ like sprinkles but weren’t, like buttons or fridge magnets.

Over Haru’s shoulder, Urara appeared. There was a light dusting of flour on his loosened ponytail, but, compared to the streak of icing on Haru’s face and all the glitter in his hair, Urara had remained relatively unscathed.

“I’m supervising the frosting,” Urara added quietly, wringing his hands together nervously. He had experienced the fridge magnets first hand and, unlike Haru, had learned from the experience.

Yuki found that he couldn’t stop smiling. “Good. I’m sure you’ll do a great job. Also,” he turned to Haru, “that better be _edible_ glitter you’re wearing.”

While Haru examined the tiny flakes, Urara nodded and said, “Yes. I checked the package before we started so… E-Everything should be fine, I think…” He bowed his head and disappeared behind his bangs.

The interview had lessened in importance and Yuki found that he could calmly breathe again. “I’ll help you guys,” he said, closing the lid and clapping Urara on the shoulder as he passed.

Keito was hovering over the oven, checking the temperature. “There are more aprons by the sink,” she said, her eyes crinkling at the corners when she smiled.

All was well until three days later when Natsuki did another interview for the site, a video interview this time. He sported that familiar cocky grin and chuckled when his ‘special someone’ was brought up again, the studio lightning catching the sharp angle of his cheekbones.

“My special someone is quite the catch,” he replied, the interviewer rolling her eyes and laughing.

And he just kept doing it. Natsuki continued to describe his fabled ‘cute redhead’ using nothing but fishing puns. No gender or name was ever given, Natsuki dodging the questions with a smirk and clever quip, and slowly Yuki began to realize that it wasn’t a joke.

Although he prided himself on being aloof and above jokes or pranks of any sort, Natsuki definitely had a mischievous streak. If he was going to set a trap, it would be elaborate and unavoidable but, most importantly, you would _know_ that he did it. If Natsuki couldn’t take credit for his actions, then he would rarely, if ever, put the effort in.

Natsuki was primarily driven by his reputation; he wanted everyone to understand him as he _was_ , for the actuality of his actions and not some rumor or misconception.

As the months passed, he never once revealed what he was doing. When he visited during holidays, there was no revelation. When they had their videochats, there was nothing. If he had time to tell Yuki about a piece of driftwood he saw that looked like Tapioca, then he definitely had time to mention a certain _cute redhead_.

Eventually, Yuki called on his ultimate weapon: Akira.

“I need some information,” he whispered, covering the receiver with his hands even though he was alone in his room.

“On what?” Akira replied in his stern Agent Voice.

“Natsuki.”

There was a pause.

“…Is he associating with suspicious individuals?”

“…Possibly?

A keyboard clicked in the background. “I’ll need you to be more specific,” he said, firing off another rapid succession of clicks. “His schedule is erratic, as one would expect, and I will need dates and locations to narrow the search. I _assume_ this is related to known extraterrestrials or suspected extraterrestrial activity?”

“Not…really…”

“Then what _is_ this call related to?”

“Well, you see…” While stuttering profusely, Yuki managed to tell Akira about the interviews Natsuki was giving and about the weird, suspicious feeling they gave him. Miraculously, Akira only complained about Yuki wasting his time twice and never threatened to hang up.

“I assume you then confronted Natsuki.”

“…”

“Yuki.”

“…”

“…You can’t be serious.”

“It’s a difficult subject!”

“The more difficult the conversation, the more necessary it becomes,” Akira stated with sage-like clarity. “Also, for future reference, please note that I graduated high school a _very_ long time ago and do not wish to relive _any_ the relationship drama associated with the experience.”

 “This isn’t relationship drama,” Yuki muttered sourly, attempting to glare at Akira through the phone. “I just… I-It’s not like Natsuki to do something like this and keep it do himself. I want to know why…”

“The answer to your dilemma is clear, Yuki.”

He sighed.

“I know. Thanks for listening and don’t tell-”

“This conversation is now classified,” Akira said, a bit of good humor showing through. “Goodbye, Yuki.”

“Yeah. Goodbye and…thanks…”

But he never did confront Natsuki.

The prospect of losing or damaging their friendship was too great. Maybe Natsuki would laugh it off and confirm that everything had been harmless and in good fun, but maybe he…

\---

On the hill that day, Natsuki looked more beautiful than he did in photographs.

_“I miss you, Yuki,” he confessed unflinchingly._

                                                                                                      ---                     


	2. Neverminded

_“I want to confess something,” Urara said and Yuki immediately whipped around, startled. He now knew that Urara had passed the point of maturity and he hadn’t quite been able to get that thought of out his head. It stuck there, vivid like a dark stain and spreading._

_“W-What is it?” Yuki asked. The wind pulled at his clothes._

_“Don’t worry, Yuki,” Urara replied, glancing up shyly. “It’s not romantic.” He fidgeted and the wind grew stronger, his bangs a hopeless tangle of pink and blue. “But I do want to talk about our relationship. I…think there’s much you don’t understand,” he admitted, quiet but with conviction. When that iron touched Urara’s voice, Yuki’s perception of him shifted. His slender form seemed to elongate and bend, the silhouette towering over him._

_The pier had become a knife-edge._

_“We have a friendship, Urara,” Yuki said, trying to lighten the mood. Wind mixed with waves and crashed._

He had said something wrong. _They were falling and Urara’s mouth was covering his, smothering his screams._

\-------------------------     

Agent Singh spoke English, Arabic, Hindi, and Persian. Agent Bahar spoke Arabic, Japanese, Hindi, Persian, and Russian. Agent Han spoke English, Japanese, Mandarin, Hindi, and German. Madam Roussel spoke English, Arabic, Hindi, Japanese, French, Russian, German, and some Mandarin. When another agent entered the room, the dynamic changed once again, sometimes leaving none of the agents with a way to communicate except through Roussel. She rarely left the room, slumped over her work station and jamming orders into the computers, cursing wildly when the system responded too slowly.

“I want four more memory units down here,” she ordered Singh. “I want them _immediately_. Tear them out of the walls if you have to.”

“Yes, Madam,” he replied, saluting sharply.

Roussel switched to Russian. “Oxidation levels are 4.3% and rising. The solution is separating.”

“I’ve got it under control,” Bahar replied. “Excretion should compensate.”

“It _better_ compensate or we have a big problem,” Roussel chastised, adjusting her ever-present mask. “If Ace had sent us to Moscow, the RAD would have maintained levels automatically… Hey, Han.” Han stirred at the mention of his name, looking away from the disassembled mechanical arm in front of him. “Go to Moscow? Yes?”

“Madam, your Mandarin is terrible,” he replied in Japanese. “The RAD is an over-hyped piece of junk. It’s just TARE with a new coat of paint and double the errors.”

Roussel continued to argue with Han, slipping into French, her native tongue, or whatever language was most convenient. She argued the particulars of RAD, the sophistication of its gel-encased synthetic neurons and self-replicating nutrient reservoir which resulted in a self-sustaining core independent from outside power sources. Even if all of D.U.C.K. was instantaneously erased, RAD would remain functional, a monument to the organization’s technological advancement. While Han shook his head and reminded her to _please_ stick to Japanese, Urara understood everything she said.

He was lying somewhere shallow, listening to their voices and watching their broad movements, the splotch of yellow that was Roussel’s mask or the white of Han’s teeth. When Han flushed in anger, Urara barely recognized the colour on his skin, the soft allure of the once-powerful red. It blossomed and faded.

The ever-obedient tide carried him to where the water was warm and green, the agents milling about in his peripheral vision. A fog covered them, their forms muddled. He heard those he could not see, the fog running thick in places. Singh returned with the parts. Roussel scolded Han while Bahar struggled with the solution. The disassembled arm remained as it was, fingers spread.

Underneath layers of muscle and membrane and skin, their bodies were full of water. It sloshed and churned, some thickly mixed with other components and some not. None of it was as pure or clear as his seawater, the green tint diffusing the sunlight like stained glass. Each body was a big reservoir, diluted and tainted but functional nonetheless. The sunlight warmed him. Outside, rain was falling.

“Inspection is in two hours,” Singh reported.

“Reassembly has stalled and the solution keeps trying to separate. It’s all we can do to stabilize the damn thing,” Roussel said. “Delay the inspection. Recovery is our top priority and I do _not_ want an unnecessary body in here.”

“Madam, the inspector is Agent Yamada.”

“Do you _think_ that matters?!” Roussel barked, slamming her fist on her keyboard. “ _No one_ gets in here until the risk of contamination is zero. Ace’s little _watchdog_ can go chase after someone else.”

Singh sighed. “Yamada is persistent,” he admitted with a touch of admiration. “I thought he transferred from Eastern months ago. Central Headquarters keeps sending for him…”

“It’s all a cover story. Since he took that desk job, Yamada’s shoot through the ranks and _obviously_ a power move like that is Ace’s doing. In order to avoid suspicion, they act like they can’t stand each other. By refusing Central all the time, Yamada seems like less of a lapdog and more of a lone wolf.”

“You don’t think Ace plans for Yamada to become his successor, do you?”

Bahar cleared his throat. “With all due respect, Madam, your theorizing is…troubling. Rumors cause unnecessary instability.” He continued in Russian. “Certain members of our organization take such rumors too literally.”

“You think too little of your fellow agents,” she replied smoothly.

Outside, the rain fell harder. The rain would continue for a long time. Urara felt the capillaries in Roussel’s right eye as clearly as he felt the dead matter rotting in the socket of his left.

Deep inside himself, there was a gaping hole where something used to be.

\-------------------------

The next morning came with a crash (Haru dropping a stack of plates in the kitchen) and a bang (Yuki slamming his head against the nightstand as he fell out of bed). He immediately regretted being awake as he was swarmed with memories from the previous night, of crying against Natsuki’s chest while the taller boy rubbed his shoulders. Natsuki had reluctantly left him at the bottom of the hill and the walk home drained the last of his energy, sending him into a dreamless sleep.

From the kitchen, he heard Keito’s soothing voice and a slew of apologies from Haru. The clock read 6:00am.

“I’ll just avoid Natsuki for the rest of my life,” he said to the ceiling. The ceiling was silent but judgmental.

                                                                                                      ---                   

When there was a knock on the front door, Yuki had expected a deliveryman or Haru (since he tended to lock himself out).

“I had some vacation days,” Akira said smoothly. Tapioca, helpful as always, quacked and enthusiastically pulled on Yuki’s shoelaces. Someone had lovingly tied a pink ribbon around her neck.

While he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, Yuki noticed a familiar blond head poking up over Akira’s shoulder. “Is that…?”

Haru squeezed through the gap between Akira’s left arm and his chest, much to the agent’s immediate alarm, and said, “I got locked out and found Akira! He likes my new haircut!”

“Low maintenance and practical yet edgy and modern. Very high fashion,” Akira stated, nodding his head sharply. Haru glowed from the praise.

Still dazed, Yuki almost asked Akira something like _“Where did that come from?”_ or _“How do you know what’s ‘high fashion’?”_ , but, despite how sleep-addled his brain was, he knew that would’ve been a very, _very_ bad idea. There was nothing Akira loved more than to sit someone down and tell them all about his modeling career, even if the person in question really didn’t want to know his measurements or that he once had fake nipple rings for a photoshoot or how badly sequin could chafe or any other horrifying anecdote.

“Watch yourself around Natsuki or you’ll end up with the same haircut,” Yuki muttered. “Also, why is Tapioca trying to eat my foot?”

“It means she missed you,” Akira said, beaming proudly.

“Looks like fun!” Haru exclaimed, eyeing Yuki’s other shoe intently.

Sensing that Haru was about to pounce, Akira grabbed the back of his shirt.

“I had a last minute cancellation,” Akira explained, “and, since I was near an airport, decided to take my vacation a bit earlier than planned. I was going to call, but it would’ve been very late here. However, I did send you a text.”

“Oh.” Yuki checked his pockets and found nothing. “I think my phone’s upstairs. I haven’t checked it yet. If you want to stay here for awhile, I’m sure it won’t be a problem…”

Chuckling, Akira shook his head. “I rented a yacht, which is currently sitting in the harbor. This is just a visit, Yuki.”

“Oh. W-Well, let’s all go inside and have some breakfast. Grandma’s in the backyard right now… Haru, can you tell her that Akira is here for a visit?”

Haru nodded and sped off, Tapioca loudly following. When they vanished around the corner of the house, Akira stepped forward and enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug. Yuki didn’t speak, wrapping his arms around Akira and hugging him back.

\-------------------------

There was a gaping hole where something used to be, but the loss went beyond the physical. Fibers of his being had been stripped raw and torn. A tumorous thought used to grow there.

“Yamada was furious.”

“That’s to be expected.” Clatter. “He’s young and ambitious. People like that throw tantrums over nothing.”

Someone laughed. “I thought he was going to break the videoscreen…”

“Yamada is a respectable agent.”

“Oh, _please_ , spare me the rhetoric.”

“Madam, with all due respect, I…”

They chattered as they cut him, familiar with the bulge of each organ and fray of each seam. He drifted to where there was a great open maw, the deep trench. Chainless, he could drift here. Time would fall from memory and plummet into the depths.

“-personal feelings interfere with the-”

 Overhead, the moon hung low.

\-------------------------


	3. Spark

Everything was in bloom. The green vines that winded up the side of the house sprouted small white buds, the scattered petals dotting the pathway and backyard. If it wasn’t so well maintained, the lawn would be a patchwork of weeds, yellowed grass, and dirt dusted with the little dried petals. Neat in their boxes, Keito’s prized flowers glittered with morning dew. If he let his eyes unfocus, they blended together like an impressionist’s work. Of all colours, Keito preferred pink and red.

In the middle of the yard, Akira lay spread-eagle, his profile half-hidden by the grass. Tapocia had remained inside to help Keito and Haru clean up breakfast, although Yuki wasn’t quite sure how the duck was going to assist them. The end of Akira’s tightly-wound turban rustled in the breeze. He didn’t start when a small beetle crawled over his chest and stopped to bask in the sun.

“Is this your way of relaxing?” Yuki commented, sipping his lukewarm coffee.

Akira chuckled. “Not really. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Life is all about experience.”

“I’m sure there’s nothing more exciting than lying around my backyard,” he replied. “You’re getting grass stains on your suit…”

Standing over Akira felt too weird, so he crouched down next to him, the coffee cup dangling from one finger. The dark circles under Akira’s eyes stood out sharply.

“I’m on vacation,” Akira said, lips curling into a smile. “Grass stains can wait.”

It was easy to get lost in their lush surroundings: the vibrant green of the leaves, rich texture of mulch, and intricate detail that touched every stem, petal, leaf, and root. A perfect garden embraced the small as it did the large. A frayed, yellowed petal impacted the scene. A dying plant broke the illusion of life and fertility. In the garden, all was significant.

“Remember when we saved the world?” Yuki asked.

Akira was watching him carefully, suspicion darkening his expression. “Of course,” he replied.

The coffee had too much sugar in it and was growing cold, but Yuki swallowed the rest. Encircled by the overwhelming beauty of the garden, his shadowed fears seemed so weak, wafting away like thin paper dipped in water. As each layer separated and dissolved, he acknowledged the pain they had caused.

When he looked at Akira, the purple-black smears under Akira’s eyes stared back at him.

“When I finally pulled Urara out of the water and he was lying there on the deck, soaked to the bone and completely exhausted, I remembered thinking that we hadn’t just saved the world.” A breeze sent a rain of white petals down and tossed the garden, the flowers writhing and scattering. He continued. “We’d… We’d also saved _him_. By saving the world, we saved him too. At least, that’s what I thought at the time. But that’s not true, is it? We never…”

“Yuki.”

“We never saved him, did we?” Yuki asked, threading his fingers through the grass.

He didn’t recognize the way Akira spoke. It was soft, warbling. The garden stilled. “Yuki,” he said, “you can only save those who wish to be saved.”

“He tried to kill me,” Yuki snapped as he ripped the grass out, the blades digging in and leaving angry red marks, “but I just can’t forget that day. I… I don’t understand how I can be so scared of him and yet also feel so…”

Akira touched his arm. “That’s enough. I can’t listen anymore.”

He pulled away.

“Why? Why not?”

“It makes my job too difficult.”

A huge mass of guilt slammed into him.

“I’m a terrible friend,” he said, staring at the plucked grass in his hands. Uprooted, it would die. “All I ever do is make things more painful for you.”

“It’s alright.”

He snorted. “No, it’s not.”

“As long as you’re safe, everything is alright,” Akira said. He settled more comfortably into the grass and closed his eyes. Yuki stayed with him in the calm of the garden, the blades in his hands catching the wind and fluttering away.

After awhile, Haru joined them, carrying Tapioca in his arms. She protested loudly and smacked him in the face with her wings, but Haru seemed determined to carry her exactly how Akira did. “Are we going on the boat soon?” he asked.

Over breakfast, Akira had bragged about his rented yacht. After mentioning the cherry wood finishing and air conditioning for the third time, Haru began pestering him for a ride around the bay. It was only after Haru suggested that they bring Natsuki along that he agreed, smirking at Yuki from across the table.

“I’ll need to borrow some equipment,” Akira replied, hushing Tapioca. “Since I came here on such short notice, everything is still in storage.”

Haru laughed. “Let’s just go for a ride then! We don’t _have_ to go fishing.”

The look on Akira’s face was one of absolute horror, as if Haru had just asked what seasonings and side dishes would go best with a roasted Tapioca.

Yuki tried to be diplomatic. “Maybe Haru has a point. It might be relaxing to just be on a boat and not fish.”

Akira stared at him. “I don’t believe you.”

Sighing, he agreed. “I don’t believe me either. You can use my rod and I’ll borrow one from Ayumi. He has some spares in the shop.”

“Yuki, I couldn’t-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Yuki said, rolling his eyes. “Just don’t get too enthusiastic and break something.”

Akira scoffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You get pretty worked up about fishing,” Yuki observed.

“No I don’t.”

“Akira.”

“I’m merely…focused.”

“Fanatical.”

“Focused.”

“You’re a fishing fanatic. Just admit it. You and Natsuki can form a club.”

Propping himself on his elbows, Akira widely grinned up at him. “Right, _Natsuki_. Have you called Natsuki yet?”

Yuki’s entire face went hot. “N-No, not yet… H-He’s jetlagged still and I was going to let him sleep in before I called so… Umm…”

Haru poked his cheek and exclaimed, “Yuki’s a stonefish!”

Swatting Haru’s finger away, Yuki glared at Akira, who looked unabashedly smug. Part of him was annoyed at Akira’s persistence and those knowing glances, but, with extreme reluctance, he had to admit that Akira had a point. Leaving things as they were wasn’t fair to himself _or_ Natsuki.

“We should invite Coco too,” Haru suggested, flopping down next to Akira.

“Of course. The boat is rather large, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Eager to keep the conversation away from him or Natsuki or him _and_ Natsuki, Yuki asked, “Just how big of a boat did you get?”

“37 feet.”

His jaw dropped open. “ _Why_? Why did you need something _that_ big?”

“ _The Moonriser_ also has three cabins,” Akira supplied helpfully.

“…I have the sneaking suspicion that you just liked the name.”

“…”

“Akira.”

“…”

\---

“This boat is too big,” Natsuki stated, staring at the mass of white resin and glass resting idly in the harbor. Next to the derelict fishing boats, it was far too sleek and modern, missing outriggers and tackle and all the familiar trappings. The double hulls made it wide and sit differently in the water, swaying rather than bobbing. On the aft, _The Moonriser_ was written in elegant blue cursive.

“I love that name,” Akira whispered, bristling when Yuki glared at him.

“An equipped boat of this size would be useful if we were going somewhere remote,” Natsuki said. “Of course, we happen to be in Enoshima and this boat isn’t equipped for fishing.”

“I _really_ love that name.”

“I don’t know how any of you can complain,” Coco said, flipping her hair over her bare shoulder. “This ship is gorgeous!”

With his rod in one hand and his tackle box in the other, Natsuki ignored her and continued to stare at _The Moonriser_ , frowning a little. Professional Fisherman Natsuki was disappointed and grappling with Friend Natsuki.

Finally, he smiled. “I take it you’re at the wheel, Akira?”

 “Of course. Any scratches come out of my damage deposit!”

“If you’re worried about money, you should’ve rented something a bit smaller,” Natsuki said, his smile turning mischievous. Yuki looked away, his heart pounding.

They began loading their gear onboard. Yuki had lugged an empty cooler to the harbor for their catches which, considering whose company he was in, would be numerous. Coco supplied the snacks: store-bought and free of any inventive alien cooking. As deck space was minimal, they piled their rods and assorted tackle in the galley. The galley opened onto the main deck, which had a built-in bench along one side and stairs leading to the raised helm on the other. The bulk of the useable space was inside, and the galley housed a kitchen and dining nook, a multipurpose room with a large porthole, two heads, and three cabins, one of which had a much larger bed.

The luxury intimidated Yuki.

“I’ve never been on a boat this nice,” he said, sitting on the bench outside. Akira was out of earshot and adjusting the helm controls.

“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?” Coco asked. She had a massive bottle of sunscreen and was applying it to her arms and legs. With her usual flair, she had layered two patterned tank tops and complimented their eye-searing union with tie-dyed shorts. Yuki theorized that she traveled the world and collected the brightest pieces of clothing mankind had to offer.

“Don’t you feel a little out of place?” he asked.

Coco raised her eyebrows, applying a second layer on her shoulders. While Yuki was a bit confused, aliens didn’t seem to get sunburned, he didn’t question her actions. “Uh, no? Our species is all about adapting. We embrace new environments and situations.”

“Oh, right. That’s because of your sense, isn’t it? I knew that already.”

Coco raised her eyebrows higher. “From Haru?”

_Cliffside and roaring winds passed, leading to the inevitable, deep plunge._

“No. Urara told me,” he replied, shaking.

She flinched, her eyes wide. “I… I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to…bring that up… I didn’t know you had talked about…” She broke off, her hands flexing like she wanted to reach for him but didn’t know how. The sliver of distance between them stretched.

Hyper-aware, he watched his fingers tremble and desperately wished for them to stop. Today was his perfect day, a day spent fishing with all his closest friends; Urara’s shadow could not take such a precious thing from him.

Forcing himself to smile, Yuki turned to her.

“It’s alright, Coco.”

She sighed heavily, shoulders slumping in obvious relief.

“Okay, good. Wow. L-Let’s just pretend that didn’t happen, okay? What were we talking about? The boat? Yeah. The boat is nice. It’s really nice.” She laughed nervously. “Oh! There’s Haru! H-Hey, Haru!”

Wearing a floppy straw hat and heart-shaped sunglasses, Haru emerged from the galley, dragging a petulant Natsuki behind him. “We spilled bait!” he announced and Natsuki immediately swooped in, covering his mouth with one hand.

“Quiet, Haru!”

Still preoccupied with the helm controls, Akira hadn’t notice their presence.

Coco wrinkled her nose and asked the obvious question. “It doesn’t smell like dead fish in there, does it?”

“Fortunately, as a professional fisherman, I have intimate knowledge of how to get fish smell out of almost anything,” Natsuki boasted. “Akira won’t notice a thing, although I would _prefer_ if no one told him. He’s a bit of a control freak.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Coco said sarcastically. Blissfully unaware, Akira flipped through the control manual and began making notes in the margins. “Also, can you let my brother go?”

Despite being in a headlock, Haru seemed perfectly content. He waved at Yuki.

“Oh. Right.” Natsuki released Haru and crossed his arms, assuming his usual down-to-business pose. “I’ve plotted out a course for us which should take advantage of the unusually high tides. With our Captain’s approval, we should complete the course at around four. This leaves enough time for a leisurely trip back to the dock. Yuki and I need to avenge our past failure, so I purpose that we cast off first.”

“And by ‘failure’, I assume you mean the fishless dinner I was treated to last night,” Coco said.

“Yes,” Natsuki curtly replied, his eyes boring into Yuki’s.

Yuki nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The air was stifling.

\-------------------------

Clack clack _rip_. “I’m not defending him, Madam, but think of what Yamada went through when-”

Their actions disturbed the wondrous still of the water, sending tiny vibrations alone the surface. Low ripples skirted out and soon vanished. Stillness was achieved once more. His heart ached at the sight.

With the trench at his back, he lay and contemplated the moonlight. It fell in panels of thin light, dancing along the water’s surface and his form, caressing every curve with equal reverence. He drifted, calm but ever-aware. In the glass jar, his intestines ballooned to double their size. An injection from one of the machines stopped the swelling, but the liquid cut a burning path through him, his physical body convulsing madly.

“-that monster-”

As the moonlight drifted over his bare stomach, he realized something was wrong.

 “-tried-”

In the jar was his true self, the carrion of the mechanical beasts and their masters, and here, safe and at peace, was his imagined self. The complete separation of the two was all that kept him sane. When he looked down, it was his human torso and arms and legs that he saw.

“-to murder-”

Moonlight ran along the inside of his arm, touching the pale blue veins it found there. Wet hair matted with the pus on his face, creating a maddening itch where his eye used to be.

“-his friend-”

The sea wept, striking out in a mad rampage that swept him and the green water away.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boat is a Leopard 39, in case my descriptions are unclear and you want a visual. ...Onwards!


	4. Shadow

The drowned boy was alive.

Urara was back in his ruined form, held together now by tubing and regulatory machines. Each of his fins had deteriorated at the edges and he wondered if that would damage his arms and legs.

The agents were unaware of the change in his consciousness. Roussel was arguing with Han about the relevancy of biospheres and if D.U.C.K. should begin the construction of one. Closed system psychology was still a relatively new field and any development would greatly affect how mankind approached the construction of spacecrafts or colony structures. Han reprimanded her for thinking so far ahead and forgetting the concerns of the present, including petroleum depletion. Urara was pleased that, despite the immense pain, he could still understand their inane chatter.

“Roussel, you realize that Yamada will be back in a few days.” Han had grown lax with titles and frequently dropped Roussel’s preferred ‘Madam’. “He’s not going to be too thrilled with this hack job.”

“Delay tomorrow’s procedure. We’ll devote the time to fixing the mess with the solution,” she ordered, rubbing her temple.

“Tentative length for this delay?”

“Indefinite.” Roussel’s voice was steeled. “Removing the subject or altering the subject’s state could be catastrophic otherwise. Once the solution is settled, we’ll fix him up for Yamada’s inspection.”

“So we’re delaying the inspection too?”

“Yes. Indefinitely.”

Singh made a pained noise. “This isn’t going to go over well…”

“Worry about that later. You are all dismissed. I’ll call Agent White in for overnight surveillance once I’ve completed our report.” She repeated the order in Russian for Bahar’s sake.

After the clatter of footsteps exiting the room, the only noise was the hum of hibernating machines and the rapid tapping of Roussel at her workstation. For awhile, he waited. Thin tubes were feeding essential nutrients into him and regulating his breathing. Although they still moved in natural rhythm, his gills gave him nothing. Some organs floated outside his body cavity, waiting for the agents to resume their morbid work.

Through conversation, he had learned that Roussel only slept for three hours a day and did so inside an experimental rejuvenation pod. The pod also provided her with nutrients and regulated exertion. If it wasn’t for her mannerisms and endless debates with Han, he would have mistaken her for a warden long ago.

A thin layer of clear plastic protected her face from the known abilities of JFX. The plastic went opaque and yellow around her mouth and chin. Roussel constantly pulled at her mask, creating microscopic tears in the material.

By only monitoring the MPI or ‘Multiphasic Partials per Inch’ in his containment unit, D.U.C.K. left all other water sources unregulated and malleable. As they spent so much time together, Urara knew Roussel’s body was constantly fatigued and suffering complications from the pod. A momentary blackout would not be usual.

Through the mask, he felt for the capillaries in her right eye and ordered Roussel to fix him.

\---

He was outside his own knowledge base. He needed Roussel to fix him. He didn’t know how. Roussel didn’t know how either, but she had the potential to. He ordered her to work harder, to ignore the bone-deep ache of her fatigue and fix him.

His command was unprecedented. JFX had never been so strong.

The drowned boy had changed him.

\-------------------------

When Akira pulled back into the harbor, the cooler was still empty. All they had to show were reddening sunburns and sore shoulders. Haru’s hat going overboard had been the comedic highlight of the day and also their biggest catch, Natsuki hooking the brim and reeling it.

 “I think we’re cursed,” Natsuki muttered, folding his arms over the back of the bench. The sky was streaked with orange, dying the whitecaps pale yellow.

Even if they hadn’t caught anything edible, Yuki had so much fun fishing with his friends, probably the most he’d ever had. Maybe that was why he could sit calmly with Natsuki like this. When their gazes locked, his heart didn’t leap into his throat and make him blush and stutter. There was still attraction, but he could securely admit that his feelings went beyond that.

“Next time, we’ll have to get Haru or Coco to help out,” Yuki suggested, gesturing to the aliens running around the dock as they attempted to secure the boat. Akira said it would be good practice for them, but he seemed horrified at their knot-tying abilities and barked orders from the helm.

Natsuki frowned, his bottom lip slightly jutting out. “That seems like cheating, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, but we wouldn’t disappoint Grandma that way,” he replied with an over-dramatic sigh.

“You’ve become immoral in my absence,” he said, playfully swatting Yuki on the back of the head. “Such behaviour is appalling.”

“I’m sorry to have disappointed Your Royal Highness.”

Natsuki’s face twitched. “Could you repeat that for me?”

“Nope,” Yuki said, laughing. “I like my hair just how it is.”

\-------------------------

Hours slipped past and Roussel continued on. Maintaining control proved difficult with the machines constantly jarring him, pulling or piercing his remaining flesh. Roussel’s usual finesse had been stripped away and replaced with a maddening urgency that left her actions efficient but brutal. No matter how tight his hold was, he could not compensate for her natural limitations.

“Stabilize…stabilize…” Roussel chanted. A blue liquid was dispersed throughout the container, changing the content’s destiny. If it wasn’t for the automation of his respiratory system, the gel-like particles would have clogged his gills and killed him.

The stress placed on Roussel’s body made her arms lag behind her thoughts. Ideally he would wait for Roussel to recover and collaborate with her team, but he simply didn’t have the time. Enoshima was waiting.

“Stabilize…”

One of the computer stations beeped and Roussel tripped as she ran for it, jerkily rising to her feet and unaware of the sharp pain crawling up her wrists. Another injection and the gel liquefied. Sprinting back to her original station, she entered a series of commands into the computer and waited as the machines obediently executed them.

“The solution is stabilized,” she announced, sagging against the workstation. Despite her accomplishment, Urara felt no different than he had before.

He didn’t let Roussel go. She was still useful.

\---

 

Agent White was a distant mote of dust. He greeted Roussel as he entered.

Wary of the cameras, Urara ordered her to walk toward the exit, keeping her strides even and steady. A surgical instrument pressed against her glove, hidden by the fold of her sleeve.

It was unlikely that White would notice the disassembled arm’s missing finger.

The material worn by the scientists was thin and dexterous. As they remained out of combat and had their operations preformed remotely, the fragility remained a minor concern. The synthetic fiber protected against all known forms of mental invasion and transient infection, which, considering how frequently Earth was contacted by extraterrestrials, were numerous.

The humans’ collection of knowledge had made them arrogant and easily fooled. They had not compensated for human error, believing themselves above such things. Roussel stumbled and dragged the hidden tool along White’s side, leaving a pale line that tore through his only defense. Fissures in the fabric let Urara’s sense pour in. She apologized, citing a headache.

“Get some rest, Madam,” he said amicably, helping Roussel straighten herself.

Urara told her to brush off the assistance and continue outside. When the final set of doors closed, she was released. He immediately switched to White and opened a video link with Roussel.

Through the videoscreen, Roussel appeared haggard, clutching her head as she examined the slender tool.

“Remember to return COI-3 before first shift, Madam,” White said. “Standard procedure does not allow the removal of core operation implements within-”

“I know procedure,” Roussel snapped, her eyes bloodshot. “Shit, it’s been a long day. For the life of me, I can’t remember what the malfunction with this thing was. Bahar was the operator when the relay system failed, but the fault lay in the main circuitry, not the implement…”

“I believe you mentioned possible disintegration in the synthetic nerve clusters, Madam.” Urara hoped his comprehension of their technology proved passable.

“Well, _maybe_. That would make sense, but COI-3 passed basic musculature testing… “ Exhaustion crept into her voice. “Urgh. Whatever. I’ll take the part to R &D and deal with it in the morning. Monitor the MPI in the container and contact Agent Han if it spikes.” She briskly ended the call. He had passed the first hurdle.

White walked over to Roussel’s workstation and found the command she had typed before leaving, the most crucial piece of Urara’s plan. The timing was difficult as Roussel needed to be sealed in the pod and thus unreachable. If he waited too long, the rejuvenation cycle could be cut short without serious harm to Roussel. The cycle peaked during the first quarter and removal from the system then would be impossible. In Roussel’s stead, the active agent, Agent White, would be contacted in matters pertaining to the subject.

He gambled. White sent the command.

Immediately, a call was coming in on the main video screen. He answered it.

The agent on the screen was masked in red. “Where is Madam Roussel?”  he asked.

“Madam Roussel has retired for the night,” Urara replied through White.

“Her rejuvenation cycle appears to be sealed... I must ask why an order from Madam Roussel be sent _without_ Madam Roussel present?”

“With all due respect, I do not speak for the Madam nor do I have insight on her orders.” Roussel’s irritability was well-known throughout the organization and hopefully the masked agent would dismiss the unorthodox circumstances as one of her eccentricities.

“Of course. The Madam’s actions are entirely her own, nonsensical as they may be. Permission has been granted. Move the subject to Operating Theatre A1 within the allotted window of time, Agent White. The keys have been loaded onto the nearest workstation. Do you require an escort?”

“No, sir. That will be all.” He saluted in usual D.U.C.K. fashion and ended the call. White memorized the key codes and loaded the final command from Roussel onto his portal computer, deleting the evidence after the transfer was complete.

\---

Roussel’s final command was to plant a few lines of bad code in Eastern Headquarters’ main system. The entry immediately alerted every security program and surveillance agent in the complex, but Roussel’s rank gave her entries priority and the bad code spread in a nanosecond. Corrupted, the automated security systems fell into infinite loops. As the main system imploded on itself, the agents’ screens went black.

The movements of the little trolley on the bottom level went unnoticed. White hurried to one of the downed areas, every camera and recording device dead, and retrieved a spare D.U.C.K. uniform with a full face mask.

Transforming was taxing yet exhilarating. Before experimentation, he had been stripped nude. The yellow tile chilled his bare feet, but he had no time to consider the sensation. White helped him pull on the suit, his limbs sluggish and uncooperative.

White knew the layout and he led Urara through the underground complex. Staying with White was incredibly dangerous as the command, although authorized by Roussel, had been sent from his personal computer. After locating a clear route to the surface, he ordered White to run in the opposite direction and let the distance release him.

\---

In the commotion, no one questioned the masked D.U.C.K. agent who stumbled through the main gate and into the surrounding city. Rain fell and ran off the suit in thick rivulets. His feet dragged as he ran, numb at the heel, but the distant mirage of Enoshima drove him forward. The clumsy stitches around his stomach pulled and threatened to split, driving him down to the pavement and gasping for air, but nothing compared to the pain of the gaping hole in his being, the scar upon his very soul.

\-------------------------

The way Natsuki looked at him seemed significant. The setting sun carved a path from the top of his cheekbone down to his jaw, resting like a tender, illuminated hand.

“Yuki, I…”

A phone went off. Immediately Yuki patted his pockets until he found the familiar rectangular shape. It wasn’t vibrating. Natsuki hadn’t moved, his expression unreadable.

At the helm, Akira pulled out a sleek black cell phone and answered it. While Haru and Coco continued to tie ropes and argue over whose knots were better, Akira sat ramrod straight and said nothing, letting the person on the other end feed him information. Yuki heard a muffled voice, but he didn’t know what language they were speaking.

“I wonder if it’s serious,” Yuki wondered aloud, slouching against the bench. Natsuki’s elbow bumped against his.

Finished their task, Haru and Coco waited on the dock. When Akira didn’t leap to his feet and start barking out orders, Haru dangled his legs over the edge and hummed off-key while Coco idly braided her windswept hair. The boat rocked with the tide, the sensation familiar and calming to Yuki.

“Not catching anything today doesn’t really bug me,” he admitted. “I don’t remember the last time I had so much fun…”

“You need to get out more,” Natsuki said.

Yuki rolled his eyes. “Well, _probably_.”

“You should…” Rare uncertainty made Natsuki look away. He stared resolutely at the smooth white deck, his teeth clenched tightly together.

Yuki reached out to him, laying a hand on Natsuki’s bare arm. “What is it?” he asked.

“Yuki, if I can’t move back here, I want you to come to America with me.”

He snatched his hand back like he had been burned. Shadows gathered in the hollows of Natsuki’s cheekbones, making him appear haggard and worn. Perhaps Yuki had never noticed how thin he was or, rather, he never acknowledged it. Akira wore a similar face, one weighed down by an intangible burden, a heavy stress.

His own instability had done this. He felt sick.

“I…” Every hesitation on his part hurt Natsuki further. “I-”

“Yuki!” Leaping from his perch, Akira crossed the deck in two steps and grabbed his arm, roughly hauling him to his feet. “The situation has changed. Get inside the galley and stay there.”

Dumbfounded, he could only follow as Akira pushed him inside. He slumped against the dining table, his arms boneless and weak. He meant to say something important to Natsuki, something that would change who they were to one another. The words had nowhere to go, balled-up in his throat and heavy. Outside, everyone was yelling.

“The situation has changed,” Yuki repeated, touching his face. He felt hot, skin clammy and drenched in sweat. “The situation has…” He _knew_.

His legs gave out and his nails scrapped along the surface of the dining table as he fell. Each sway of the boat intensified and his head swam, black spots darting in and out of sight. Distant waves roared, rushing up to meet him as he fell. They parted as he was sucked under, the deep dark rushing in his lungs and he couldn’t breathe, each inhalation sending water into his lungs and choking him. Suffocating, heavy dark hid the pale slip of the wrist parting the waves and grasping at his own.

It was a lifeline, _his_ lifeline.

“Yuki, you need to breathe.”

Natsuki rubbed his back while Haru took his hands, clasping them in his own. “Yuki? Yuki, are you okay?” he asked, eyes wide with concern.

“He’ll be alright. Yuki,” Natsuki said, rubbing soothing circles, “you need to breathe.”

The rush of _air_ into his lungs helped clear his head, the dark water vanishing. He squeezed Haru’s hand and asked, “A p-panic attack?”

“Looks like it,” Natsuki replied with a touch of relief. “Just keep breathing, Yuki. You’re alright.”

“W-Where’s Akira?”

Grimacing, Natsuki answered, “Giving orders to Coco at the moment.”

“Orders…” He sighed. “Urara’s escaped, hasn’t he?”

“Don’t push yourself, Yuki, it’s-”

“It’s exactly what I think it is,” he said, quiet but firm. “What else could get Akira so worked up? And…what else could make me freak out so badly?”

Natsuki said nothing and continued to rub circles into his back.

When Akira entered the galley, Yuki was still on the floor. He wasn’t the Akira from the garden, the one who smiled widely against the lush green grass and told Yuki the truth.

“We’re disembarking,” Akira said, his phone by his ear. The stream of information from the other end continued. “Usami Natsuki and Haru, I advise you to leave while the option is still available.”

Natsuki bristled. “And if we don’t?”

“Either you will be forced from this vessel or you will be taken to same location as Sanada Yuki. The outcome lies with my superior. What is your decision?”

Haru stood. The air around him crackled with an intangible force. “I’m staying with Yuki,” he said through gritted teeth.

The hand left Yuki’s back. Like Haru, Natsuki stood, his mouth set in a grim line. “I’m staying here,” he announced. The shadow of his back fell like a shield.

The masculine voice from the phone chuckled. “Let them stay,” the voice said in an English drawl. Akira stiffly nodded.

“Stay inside the galley for now. I will explain the situation in detail at a later time.” Without a gesture of familiarity, Akira turned on his heel and marched outside, reclaiming his place at the helm and starting the engine. The boat jerked forward.

\-------------------------

He found a corner shop that sold formal wear and grabbed the shopkeeper. The conspicuous D.U.C.K. suit was dumped behind the shop and he changed into a dark blue suit, letting the shopkeeper select the fit and colour. A matching trilby hid most of his hair, a few stubborn strands falling around his face. His missing eye and the remaining mess of scar tissue posed a challenge to the shopkeeper. Eventually, he settled on repurposing a plain black tie as an eye patch, tying an intricate but secure knot. Urara then checked the shop for cameras. Finding none, he hurried to the narrow alley outside.

From the D.U.C.K. suit, he salvaged the communicator. As a precautionary measure, he broke the communicator’s built-in camera. As expected, the main communication tower had gone down in the chaos and D.U.C.K. rerouted all messages through Central, causing a slight delay in the information.

The audio feed would have provided him with a huge advantage, but the agents were using some unknown code in their messages. He understood the language easily enough, but the information was nonsensical.

“Drive me outside the city,” he ordered, buttoning the jacket.

Using shop’s plain delivery van, the shopkeeper drove him through the intricate city streets. Half-blind by the thick rain, he watched the scenery with disinterest. Buildings were tall here, windows dotting their forms like speckles on a flounder. The rain distorted them further, leaving their edges undefined, their mass blending with the greying sky. His keen influence sensed the thousands of bodies inhabiting each one. To conquer a city like this, he would lose himself in the process, succumbing to an older form of madness. It was wise to limit himself, focusing the full extent of his power through a very accurate lens.

On the center console, the yellow communicator continued to spout meaningless drivel. Before arriving on a new planet, Urara’s kind received exposure to the primary languages of the planet before their landing, lessening the inevitable delay involved with natural language acquisition. Within a matter of hours at their chosen landing site, they would be capable of conversation and basic writing. Lacking such an advantage, his only way of decrypting D.U.C.K.’s transmissions would be to lock himself in a room with the communicator on for several months. Such a method involved a high percentage of risk as D.U.C.K., an experienced and formidable organization, probably changed their encoding practices at regular intervals.

A glitzy babble dangled off the rearview mirror, swaying with each of the van’s sharp turns. Traffic lights, fluorescent signs, and headlights alike glinted off its surface, sending a shower of bright sparkles throughout the interior of the van, glimmering like moonlight on the surface of a calm sea.

The blaring of car horns forced him to surface, to accept that this was now his reality. The derelict van held nothing of value or beauty, the seats frayed and the windshield cracked down the middle, spreading out like a spider web. Like most of his kin, the shopkeeper was forgettable, merely a container for bones, muscles, and fluids. Outside, the storm reached its crescendo. Beyond the windshield, all was grey.

Perhaps these surroundings were suitable for one like himself. Derelict as it was, the van moved and turned as the shopkeeper directed. Its worn state did not affect its purpose. Every turn of the wheels rattled its frame, but it moved nonetheless.

Curiosity brought him to rear view mirror, to the mess of scar tissue peaking out the bottom right corner of his eye patch. Inflamed, the red meshed with patches of rotting yellow and lines of fine white. Scabs created an uneven texture, dead skin flaking off and peeling. A light catch the hanging decoration, its sparkles highlighting the thickest of the scars, the one decisive cut that ruined his eye.  

He adjusted the eye patch and sat back down. The buildings seemed smaller now.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“In transit. It will be awhile before we’re out of Tianjin,” the man responded.

Traffic had grinded to a halt, horns blaring.

Urara had no idea where he was.

\-------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …Let me take a moment to explain how Urara’s powers work, since a bunch of it is my personal headcanon and might be confusing. This infodump seems a bit unnecessary in the main narrative, so I figured I’d put it here to answer any immediate questions.
> 
> In exchange for having immense power, greater than those of Haru and Coco, Urara quickly becomes unstable when taking over multiple targets or otherwise overexerting himself. At the peak of this instability, he is an irrational and obsessive being driven by instinct, as seen in the main series. From past experience in this state, Urara is wary, rightfully so, of attempting a mass-manipulation. His current strategy is to limit his control to one or two individuals and, by keeping his focus so small, he is able to have an extremely powerful hold over them, even allowing him to extract information from them and force them to perform at their full efficiency, as seen with the Madam.
> 
> Urara can take over people in one of three ways:
> 
> The first is by using moisture in the air. While he is quickly able to take over many targets at once using this method, it is the most difficult method to perform, gives him the weakest hold over the target, and, most detrimental of all, quickly makes him unstable. Urara knows he needs his intellect in order to outwit D.U.C.K., so this method isn’t his preferred one. Both Haru and Coco are not capable of using this method.
> 
> The second is to use a liquid to dampen the target, making direct contact with the skin, and use the liquid as a medium for projecting his will. This method gives him a moderate hold over the target and, if the number of targets is kept fairly small, he can retain his sanity. This is the method Haru and Coco use.
> 
> The third is completely headcanon. Urara can feel the water inside a human body, even if it is not entirely pure, and use this water to project his will inside someone, giving him an unbreakable hold. While he can only do this for one or two targets, the strength of the hold allows him to maintain his sanity with relative ease when compared to the other two methods. Urara is the only one of his kind capable of this. The strength of the hold also allows him to make extremely complicated commands with absolutely no resistance. 
> 
> Also, for the purposes of this story, aliens cannot communicate telepathically with each other or humans without their subconscious consent. IE: Since Urara doesn’t like Haru, Haru can’t just burst into his mind and make small talk. Haru also can’t ask for permission since Urara is so entirely against the idea that their minds cannot even begin to link. …I’ve mainly ignored the telepathy aspect since it didn’t really contribute anything and just meant that I had to type a bunch about why no one is using it all the time… The uses of it in the main series also appear to be between individuals who are very close, so it seems like a suitable explanation. …It might also be affected by distance to some degree, aka explaining the lack of Haru-Coco interaction, but they could also be chatting in the background the entire time and we’d never know since I haven’t done Haru or Coco’s POV.
> 
> The stuff on language was outlined in the first chapter of ‘A Wandering Wave’ and I rambled about lures at the end of the second chapter, if you need a refresher. 
> 
> …Anyways, that’s all for now.
> 
> TL;DR: Urara’s a bloodbender and I don’t like telepathy.
> 
> ………Onwards!


	5. Come Closer

Night had fallen, the coastline dotted with little squares of light. With just the hum from _The Moonriser_ ’s motor, it was eerily quiet, reminiscent of the time they had all snuck out to fish for tuna and tackle the big bait ball. That adventure had ended in disaster and Yuki hoped this nighttime excursion would end a little less painfully.

Despite the hours that had passed, Akira remained at the helm with the phone pressed against his ear, refusing to answer their questions. When Haru had poked his head outside to complain, Akira threatened to throw him off the boat. Such a statement normally wouldn’t faze Haru, but this time was different. He apologized quietly, shuffling backwards with his head low.

“This feels like a hostage situation,” Natsuki said dryly.

Instead of finding his friend’s humor comforting, Yuki was annoyed by it. Telling Natsuki to shut up wouldn’t accomplish anything, especially when Natsuki would just cower and apologize for upsetting him. He tried to focus on something else instead.

The main living area of the galley was the joint dining room and kitchen. A low viewing bench ran along the other side of the room, positioned in front of a long, curved window. Yuki had checked the bench earlier and found that, once the cushions were removed, it functioned as storage. In an attempt to keep the galley clean, he stored their fishing gear there, although the cooler was too big and was promptly shoved in a corner and forgotten. He had also raided the kitchen, finding nothing but their leftover snacks, a bag of duck feed, and suspicious amount of alcohol. Aside from the master bedroom, which had Akira’s things strewn over the bed and floor, supplies onboard were minimal. They were lucky the extra beds even had sheets on them.

Sleeping arrangements were simple. Haru usually crawled into his bed anyways, so they were well-suited to rooming together. Natsuki would have the bedroom across the hall while Akira kept the master. Of course, all of this was assuming that Akira planned to keep them adrift for the entire night and not drag them onto a plane or aircraft carrier or submarine or whatever he had planned.

Despite how tense the silence was, Haru never attempted to break it. He sat alone on the covered bench, staring out the large window at the moonlit water. Yuki wanted to go to him, but the air felt charged, somehow laced with Haru’s emotional turmoil. He stayed with Natsuki at the dining table, engrossed with the grains of the wooden table. Although he had scratched at it earlier, there weren’t any marks.

Haru was spatially separated from them, giving an illusion of closeness between him and Natsuki. The slim distance was grating, a twisted image of the scene earlier, of when Natsuki asked him to move to America. Evidently, Urara couldn’t allow him that little piece of happiness.

The motor began to gurgle, winding down and slowing the boat. After the noise faded completely, Akira’s boots thudded on the deck outside. Yuki noticed how Natsuki’s fists tightened, his face set in an intense scowl.

If Akira was tired, he hid it well. He finally ended the call with the mysterious man.

“Please retire for the night. We will reach our destination in the morning.”

“No, that’s _not_ what’s happening,” Natsuki snapped, slamming his fist against the table. “You promised us answers, _Akira_.”

 “They will have to wait,” Akira responded coolly. “My mission does not-”

Yuki fell across the table and grabbed Natsuki’s arm before he could take a swing at Akira. It was strange how the more flustered and emotional Natsuki got, the calmer he felt inside. They were compensating for each other, Natsuki taking on their shared frustration while Yuki guarded rationale thought. Throwing an ill-advised punch at Akira would end in a dislocated arm and a lot of hurt. While Natsuki was blinded and didn’t care about such things, he did.

He coaxed Natsuki back to his seat, leaving their hands locked together.

“Is…Urara coming here?” Haru’s voice was hesitant and small. It hit like a gunshot.

Unphased, Akira turned to him, their gazes meeting. “I cannot answer that,” he said. “Please understand.”

Haru worried his bottom lip and nodded. “Okay. We’ll go to bed now.”

Satisfied with Haru’s answer, Akira went back outside and started up the motor. The boat resumed its steady pace, swaying slightly. Ripping his hand away, Natsuki stormed off. A door slammed.

“Why are things turning out this way?” Yuki asked, staring at where Natsuki used to be, his hand empty and cold.

“Don’t worry, Yuki.”

He scowled. “That’s pretty much impossible right now. I’m going to worry because there’s a hell of a lot to worry about. You understand that much, don’t you?”

Framed by the nightscape outside, Haru appeared ethereal. His hair was a sweep of untouched moonlight, highlighting the bright violet of his eyes.

“I…would understand more if you just…” Trembling, Haru turned away. “Yuki, I’m sorry. I…must’ve done something wrong, and even if I don’t understand, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

“What are you talking about?” He walked over to Haru and stood by his side, half his face in moonlight and half in shadow. “I just lost my temper, Haru. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that and I could _never_ hate you.”

“Then why don’t you…”

“Why don’t I _what_?”

“Why don’t you _talk to me_?” A tear trailed down Haru’s face. He rubbed fiercely at its trail, the skin turning a vivid red. “We’re friends, aren’t we? I know you have Keito and your counselor and Akira and Natsuki and Coco and everyone at the Hemingway and everyone at school, but you…” Another tear fell and Haru rubbed at it. “You have me too. So why am I left out? W-Why can’t you talk to me?”

Yuki wrapped his arms around Haru and pressed him against his chest. Haru squeezed back, his fingernails digging into Yuki’s back as he sobbed. Haru’s hair was patchy from the uneven cut, but Yuki stroked it anyway, flattening the pieces that stuck up.

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” he said quietly, tucking Haru’s head under his chin. “I didn’t realize you felt this way.”

“I’m sorry,” Haru replied, his voice muffled. “I thought it would go away, but it didn’t go away. It got worse. I… I’m sorry.” Yuki’s shirt felt damp.

“So, you would like it if I talked about…” His courage slipped and if it wasn’t for the trembling boy in his arms, he would have stopped there. “About Urara?”

“I want to talk about whatever you want to talk about, Yuki, and I promise that I’ll always listen. Anything that’s bothering you, anything at all. I’ll always listen.” Haru took a deep breath, his shoulders pulling back. “If Yuki wants to talk about Urara, then I’ll listen and, if Yuki wants me to, I’ll talk about Urara too.”

Soothingly, he stroked Haru’s patchy hair. He wanted to say something reassuring, but no words came to mind; no words could convey more than his actions.

The unfortunate truth was that he never told Haru about Urara, letting his grandmother or Coco or D.U.C.K. fill in the blanks for him. It was easier to assume that Haru already knew everything than to delve into the painful topic. Alternatively, part of him hoped that Haru _didn’t_ know everything, that Urara’s long shadow had never touched him.

None of this was fair to Haru. Haru collected his homework when Yuki couldn’t make it past the front door. Haru kept questions about Urara away from him, dealing with it alone. Haru cleaned out the guest bedroom, collecting all of Urara’s things. When the memories became overwhelming and Yuki found himself falling, Haru would grab his hands and hold them still, muttering reassuring things until he resurfaced, alive. At night, Haru never teased him when he cried. He would hold Yuki tighter and tangle their legs, whispering that if they fell, it would be together.

If he cried now, Haru would stay until his tears dried.

From the hallway, a door clicked open.

Natsuki was trying to maintain his composure but failing miserably. His eyes were tinged with red at the corners. “The walls on this boat are pretty thin,” he muttered.

With his free arm, Yuki grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him into the group hug.

\---

After a restless night, they were dragged into the galley by Akira, who confiscated all of their phones and then ordered them off the ship. At first, the order seemed nonsensical. They were adrift and even Natsuki’s accurate eye couldn’t pinpoint their surroundings. After a short wait, a low mechanical noise began to approach, soon rising in volume and forcing Haru to cover his ears. The helicopter was jet black and devoid of the familiar D.U.C.K. logo, but Akira stepped outside and waved it down.

Once the initial shock of a _helicopter_ coming to pick them up wore off, they were sent up a short rope ladder and strapped into the seats by an unfamiliar woman. Akira stayed on the boat, but Tapioca was sent up and strapped into the copilot’s seat.

What followed was an extremely rapid series of transfers. From the helicopter, they were shoved onto another boat. After reaching a strange port, the woman, who Yuki suspected was an incognito D.U.C.K. agent, had them board a private jet. They landed at a busy airport and transferred to another flight. Then the procedure repeated again and again. After the fourth transfer, Yuki lost count.

For awhile, Natsuki loudly protested and demanded to know where they were going. Like Akira, the female agent brushed off the questions. Even when the travel began to exhaust him, Natsuki kept demanding answers. Haru joined in sometimes, but the plane rides wore him out. The agent occasionally misted him with water.

At some point, Akira rejoined the group. He let the other agent handle their travel arrangements and slept through the flights. A sealed purple envelop stayed on his person at all times and Natsuki quickly developed multiple outlandish theories surroundings its contents.

\---

Yuki dozed off on a plane and woke up in a car.

While he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, Natsuki, nearly bursting with excitement, leaned close and whispered in his ear. “We just left SFO. It’s an airport in San Francisco.”

“Guess you got me to America after all,” Yuki replied, yawning widely.

Natsuki turned pink and shifted awkwardly.

With three teenagers shoved in the backseat, space was minimal. Natsuki’s side was pressed against his, their knees bumping together. Yuki didn’t really mind.

On the other side of Natsuki was Haru, who had his face smushed against the tinted window. The streets outside were dark and flooded with the orange of streetlights, the silhouettes of tall houses melding with the starless sky.

Nudging Natsuki with his elbow, he asked, “How long have we been driving for?”

Natsuki’s blush deepened. “I…may have fallen asleep at some point. Haru did too.”

Haru remained engrossed in the scenery, his eyes tracing the shapes of the passing buildings. They were definitely in a residential area. Although large, the houses lacked the grandeur of mansions.

In the front seat, Akira was adjusting a bulky yellow radio, the broadcasts incomprehensible. The radio sat on the dashboard, contrasting sharply with the elegant interior of the car. Among the leather and wood trimmings, the gaudy plastic box was an eyesore yet also soothing in its familiarity. As he turned the notched dials on the side, Akira spoke rapidly into his phone. Nestled in his lap, Tapioca slept soundly. Perhaps she had grown accustom to the noise. The unknown agent was driving, her face hidden behind an enormous pair of sunglasses and a wide hat. More radio equipment was shoved under Akira's seat, wires strewn about carelessly.

“This really does look like a kidnapping,” Natsuki said. Yuki nodded in agreement.

Suddenly, the car lurched to a halt. Akira ripped open the top of the purple envelope and dumped out two identical yellow communicators, handing one to the driver and pocketing the other. He shifted his hold of Tapioca, prodding her up on his hip, and, without a word or glance at the backseat, exited the vehicle.

As Yuki watched him walk away, phone tight to his ear, Natsuki exclaimed, “What the hell was that? He’s _leaving_?”

“Yamada will rejoin us at a later time,” the driver replied, pressing down hard on the accelerator. They turned a corner and Akira faded from view.

\---

When the wheels crunched over gravel, Yuki sat up straight and looked outside, memorizing the façade of the large blue house at the end of the driveway. A tall front-facing window was its most distinguishing feature, curving at the top in a half-moon shape. Although _The Moonriser_ had been abandoned in the early stages of their journey, Yuki saw its echo here.

The unknown agent rolled down her window and entered a long keycode into the security gate’s touchpad. When the gate slammed shut behind them, she disassembled the yellow radio, storing the pieces in a nondescript case. The remaining device on the dashboard flashed to open the garage door and as the car entered, Yuki saw that the garage was barren, devoid of the usual clutter and abandoned projects of any lived-in space. The floor was immaculate, not even a single mote of dust or patch of dirt marring the surface. As the door shut, there was a sudden absence of light.

The driver was the first to move, opening her door and stepping outside. Cautiously, Yuki joined her in the dark, followed by Haru and Natsuki.

She led them into the house.

Entering felt like intruding. Moonlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating patches of too-clean carpet. The interior was large and dressed in the plain, neutral aesthetic reserved for nonthreatening commercials and moderately-priced hotel rooms. Home implied a sense of informality, of chipping paint and mismatched baseboards. Every scuff and scrap told a story, whether it was sentimental, like the discoloured floorboards from when Haru let the washing machine overflow, or not. In the living room, the upholstery of the chairs matched the neatly hemmed curtains. The walls were bare.

Natsuki nudged him in the ribs. He looked concerned, but did not test the silence.

Outside the living room was a wide hallway, closed doors running down its sides. The agent stopped at the one next to a large landscape painting, the image swathed in blues and yellows. Feeling around the edges, she pushed it up, the painting releasing from the wall. As she set it on the floor, a grey control panel was revealed. She entered a code and the door opened with a click.

“Get in,” she said.

Natsuki began to tense and Yuki grabbed his hand, hoping the little bit of reassurance would be enough. They were all angry and confused and tired, but she was with Akira and Akira was still their friend, even if he had morphed into someone distant and guarded. _“He saved the world with us,”_ Yuki wanted to say. _“How can we doubt our friend like that?”_

Beyond the open door was a staircase leading down into shadow. Brushing Natsuki’s knuckles with his thumb, Yuki went through the door, Haru following close behind. The agent waited for them to cross the landing before closing the door, the lock snapping back into place. “We’ll talk in the morning,” she said.  

Wreathed in thick slabs of metal, the simple door looked more like a bank vault from the inside. After her muffled footsteps faded, Natsuki pushed one of the levers, trying to jostle it.

“Let me guess. It only opens from the outside?”

Natsuki pushed harder. Nothing happened. He attempted to glare a hole through the door. Nothing happened.

“Looks that way.”

Stretching his arms over his head, Haru whined, “I’m tired, Y-U-K-I.”

“There’s only one place to go,” Natsuki said, frowning, “and that’s down.”

Yuki shrugged. “Alright. Let’s go.”

“There could be weird stuff down there.”

“Natsuki, what could _possibly_ be so weird?”

“This may be Akira’s house. If the basement locks from the outside, maybe this is where he keeps… _his victims_.”

All the blood drained from Haru’s face. “V-V-Victims?” he stuttered.

Yuki rolled his eyes. “Haru, don’t listen to him. He’s joking.”

“Maybe Akira has his own private dungeon where he keeps prisoners in shackles and lets them starve.”

“Natsuki…”

“Or maybe it’s a _different_ kind of dungeon…”

“Natsuki!”

Torn between being afraid and being confused, Haru slumped against the wall. “I’m sleeping here,” he weakly announced.

Yuki rolled his eyes again. “No you’re not. Come on, Haru.”

When the alien remained limp, Yuki grabbed his shoulders and marched him down the stairs, Haru wiggling and complaining the entire time.

“No, Yuki! Scary things are down there!”

“I hope you’re happy,” he grumbled to Natsuki, who lagged behind, purposely remaining out of his reach.

“I’m never happy,” Natsuki announced, smirking a little. Yuki refused to take the bait, rolling his eyes and muttering obscenities under his breath.

They stopped at another door, Haru digging his heels in and bumping into Yuki. Like the one at the top of the stairs, its outer face was plain and nondescript.

“This is the moment of truth,” Natsuki muttered.

“ _You_ have an overactive imagination,” Yuki snapped, reaching over Haru to test the handle. To his surprise (and alarm), it moved. Haru wailed and stepped on his feet. Surprised, he leaned forward, trying to push Haru off, and the door slid open, the handle slipping from his grasp as he fell through. Natsuki grabbed his wrist, trying to steady him, but the momentum dragged him in too.

Somehow, Yuki managed to keep himself, Haru, and Natsuki on their feet, although Natsuki was wobbling dangerously and Haru had him in a chokehold. After sorting out whose limb was whose, Haru took one look around the room, wailed, and grabbed Yuki tighter, burying his head in his chest.

Considerate as always, Natsuki strode past Yuki, ignoring his frantic hand gestures towards the alien squeezing his throat. “Haru, calm down. It’s just a basement.”

As dislodging Haru himself, Yuki added, “Actually, it looks like a panic room. The door locks from the inside, see?”

The door’s inner face was interlaced with bands of thick metal and an intricate locking mechanism, supplemented by the sleek control panel on the wall. A sticky note had been placed at the top, a 20-digit number scrawled in slanted handwriting.

“So, let me get this straight. We have a panic room, which locks from the inside, which is protected by another door, which locks from the _outside_?”

He shrugged. “I don’t get it either. The door at the top of the stairs locks us down here, but we can also lock out anyone upstairs. Doesn’t that seem…kind of silly?”

“No, Yuki. It’s not silly,” Haru piped up, pulling off the note and examining its underside, which was blank. “The inside and the outside have to get along.”

Natsuki nodded. “True. Even if someone manages to get past the agent upstairs, they cannot get into this room.”

After a short argument, they decided to input the code and lock the door. The mechanisms on the door whirled and then forced it shut, slamming the door tight into the frame. Recessed ceiling lights automatically flicked on, staving off the darkness. As he stared at the mess of exposed machinery, he felt a strange tightness in his chest. Whether it was longing or regret, he chose not to dwell on it.

Although sparse, the basement was by far the least intimidating room in the house. Its layout mimicked that of a studio apartment, and, if one could ignore the lack of windows and armored front door, it was comfortable, the walls light tan and the carpeting clean and soft.

Three futons were laid out at the far end, colour-coded blankets spread across each, the fierce red indicating his while the pink and blue were Haru and Natsuki respectively. A small kitchen inhabited the space near the door, the shelves stocked with canned goods and the fridge full. The bathroom was equally small, holding a shower instead of a bath, and Haru immediately ran inside and drenched himself, accidentally spraying Natsuki in the process. The rest of the main space was devoted to shelving, some kind of communications unit (which wouldn’t respond how many times Yuki punched it), and a low table with three chairs.

“I think I’m going to die of boredom,” Natsuki said, rifling through the shelves. The contents were entirely practical: clothing, first aid kits, extra paper towel and toilet paper, spare blankets, boxes of unopened toothpaste, dish soap, and other necessities. Natsuki was both amused and disturbed to find three pairs of glasses which matched his prescription.

“Akira sure thought of everything,” Yuki observed while Natsuki shoved the glasses back in. “Maybe he even stocked your hair gel.”

“I… I don’t use hair gel.”

Yuki tried not to laugh. “Okay, sure. Right. I totally believe that.”

Natsuki smacked him with a pillow.

\---

Sleep came easy for Haru. Curled up in a half-moon shape, the top of his head faced Yuki, the sweep of his bangs dusting the tips of his eyebrows.

If he rose, balancing himself on his elbows, he could see Natsuki lying still and awake, his eyes unfocused. As his vision adjusted to the dark, Yuki could see how his friend fidgeted, chewing his bottom lip and wringing his hands. Like a moon in the night sky, the absolute still was an illusion, an illusion fabricated by a mind that chose to ignore the truth, the turning of the world beneath their feet and the motion of the moon.

\---

_“Patience is a virtue,” Urara observed, kicking a pebble as he walked. His answers were hollow, vacant of their usual curiosity and awkward charm._

_Yuki’s mind was elsewhere, drifting away from the alien’s stilted tone and how he stumbled more than usual, his long arms flailing out as he balanced himself. Urara had learned that idiom in class and, like most philosophical things, had struggled with its meaning for the rest of the day._

_If he had focused more, looked past the shy smile of his friend, he would have seen the fault, stark as dried blood on snow, running down through Urara’s face, splitting his smile open._

\---

_“Patience is a virtue,” Urara observed, kicking a pebble as he walked, his eyes sharp as they traced the contours of Yuki’s face and neck. The statement was not for Yuki; the statement was Urara’s own, a reminder and a mantra. He murmured it as they walked, alone and so very close._

\---

“Natsuki?”

He shifted, squinting in the dark. “What is it?” he murmured.

“I wanted to say that… Well, I…” Yuki turned away, staring at the white expanse of the ceiling and not at Natsuki or the curve of his jaw line, the sharp angle of it. “I missed you too, when you were overseas. I… I-It seems kind of unfair that I never said anything when you did...”

Haru remained as he was, ethereal and at peace, a sanctuary. The blankets were warm by his side.

“Goodnight, Yuki.”

He sighed, his eyelids sliding shut. The feeling from before returned, the strange mixture of longing and regret.

“Goodnight, Natsuki.”

\---

Morning consisted of bad instant coffee and Natsuki’s many theories which, to Yuki at least, were increasingly paranoid and nonsensical. Haru took him too seriously, yelping at the possibility that their food was drugged. Yuki knew that Natsuki was acting so outlandish in an attempt to lessen the weight of their current situation, but it wasn’t working all that well.

“Eat your eggs and stop scaring Haru,” Yuki said, sliding a pair of eggs off the frying pan and onto Natsuki’s plate. He honestly didn’t remember how _he_ was coerced into cooking when Natsuki was the one who grew up around a restaurant.

Natsuki smirked, his eyes flashing. “Nice apron.”

Of course, the only apron was soft pink with lacy edges. “If you say one more word, I’m hitting you with the spatula,” Yuki warned.

Wisely, Natsuki stuffed his mouth with egg.

“It suits you, Yuki,” Haru blurted out. The warning had been exclusive to _Natsuki_ and the ever-observant alien took advantage of that.

While Natsuki choked and laughed at the same time, his eyes watering, Yuki stormed back to the kitchen and cracked another set of eggs, pointedly turning his back to Haru. While he could fit three eggs in the pan, doing two at a time ensured that they came out with clean edges.

“He even tied a perfect bow in the back,” Natsuki observed and Yuki whipped around. Haru was nodding in agreement, his expression one of blissful joy.

“This is your last warning,” Yuki said, brandishing his weapon. “Next time, I’m throttling both of you.”

Natsuki raised an eyebrow. “With a spatula?”

“Yes.”

“Is that even possible?” Natsuki asked. Haru shrugged.

Bristling, Yuki declared, “One more remark about the apron and the two of you will find out.”

“Yuki, stop trying to murder your roommates.”

None of them had heard Akira enter and, after a quick check of the room, he remained hidden. The low tone of his voice had been unmistakable.

Natsuki examined the door and found it still locked. Stepping away from the stove, Yuki walked towards the uncooperative communications desk and found that one of the lights was on, the text next to it reading ‘INCOMING TRANSMISSION’.

“Akira?”

“Hello, Yuki.”

Both Haru and Natsuki appeared at his side, crowding the narrow desk. There was a videoscreen, but it remained grey and nonfunctional. When Haru reached to press the buttons at the top, Natsuki pushed his hand away and gave him a withering glare.

“Don’t touch the buttons,” Natsuki said.

“Sorry, sorry!” Haru smiled too brightly for someone who was being scolded.

“Yuki, I’m outside the door. I request that you unlock it so I may enter.”

“If you’re right outside the door, why can’t we hear you?” Yuki asked. The speakers on the desk carried Akira’s voice, and, by placing an ear on the sealed door, outside the room seemed absolutely quiet.

“Must be soundproofing,” Natsuki mumbled, tapping on the wall with his knuckles.

“Correct,” Akira said, static touching his voice. “I can access the videoscreen if you doubt that I am who I claim to be.”

“I doubt an impostor would be able to sound half as arrogant as the real thing,” Natsuki commented wryly. Surprisingly, Akira laughed.

“So, we’re in agreement? Open the door?” Yuki asked.

“It’s definitely Akira,” Natsuki said with a nod.

Haru bounced on his heels. “Can I open it?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Yuki said, recalling the eggs he left cooking on the stove. “I don’t want to burn Akira’s house down.”

“Although this isn’t my house, I would appreciate that,” Akira replied sardonically.

As Yuki slid the eggs onto his plate, the door swung open and the familiar agent entered, his hair down and artfully tousled. Trading in his usual suit for a blue dress shirt and tan khakis, Akira looked younger and less constrained, a playful glint in his dark eyes. While Natsuki seemed wary, keeping a fair amount of distance between them, Haru leapt and embraced Akira, laughing when Akira spun him around.

Natsuki crossed his arms. “Are you on vacation again?” he asked.

Akira smirked, smoothing out his hair with a free hand. “It would appear that way, wouldn’t it? I seem like a determined young man, full of ambition and enthusiasm, but that is all a clever ruse. This is my disguise, an attractive and youthful middleclass man with a beautiful fiancée.”

“You also have a basement full of kidnapped teenage boys,” Natsuki added with a grimace.

Akira shrugged. “Well, nobody’s _perfect_.”

Setting his plate on the counter, Yuki approached the group. His presence felt like an intrusion, a reminder of the reality they were in. Akira’s gaze was bright and welcoming, but he saw beyond it, at the true emotions Akira guarded so well.

He was startled when the female agent appeared in the doorway. With her hair slicked back and tied in a high ponytail, the severity of her features was emphasized.

She mimicked Natsuki’s posture and leveled a glare at Akira. “Good morning, ‘darling’,” she said tightly. Like Akira, she was in casual ware, her deep blue sundress matching the pendant around her neck.

Seemingly oblivious, Akira wrapped an arm around her shoulders and smiled widely. “Why, if it isn’t my beautiful fiancée! Boys, I would like to introduce you to Linda Nayar.”

Gaping, Haru pointed at them. “Y-Y-You’re _married_? Akira, you’re married?!”

Linda elbowed Akira in the ribcage, remaining unphased when he doubled-over in pain. “Of course not. For the mission, we are posing as a newly engaged couple. I too am an agent of D.U.C.K.”

“Y-You should be kinder to your dear fiancé,” Akira suggested weakly.

As Haru scratched his head and tried to sort out the new information, Natsuki loudly cleared his throat. “So, I guess today is the day that we learn what is going on here?”

Akira nodded. “Yes. I…apologize for the difficulty our secrecy has caused you, but that was for both your safety and ours. D.U.C.K.’s security has been compromised by JFX and the nature of this mission is known only to myself, Agent Nayar, our esteemed President and one of his colleagues, Mr. Hopland. We could not risk the information being spread further.”

The air of compliancy muffled Yuki’s outburst, the terror that burst in his chest and threatened to drag him to his knees. Physically, all he did was stagger, leaning on the dining table for support, but inside he was scrambling, digging into something, _anything_ , for purchase as he fell into the torrent. The touch at his elbow was Natsuki, his concern visible.

“D.U.C.K.’s security has been compromised by JFX,” Yuki repeated, his teeth tightly clenched. “JFX. _Urara_.”

“The scientists in charge of JFX’s procedures greatly underestimated his intelligence and invasive abilities,” Linda said, her tone even and entirely professional. By her side, Akira looked distant, hands clenched into fists. “From what the investigation has revealed, it’s likely that JFX quickly deciphered the multiple languages used by the agents and amassed information on the very structure of our organization. At the present, how JFX was able to take aggressive invasive action remains unknown.”

“Urara’s strong,” Haru said quietly.

“With his known abilities, JFX never should have had an opportunity to take action,” Linda stated. “The only possibility is that his abilities have further developed. AOX deems this impossible as the evolutionary potential of your species _should_ have been reached several thousand years ago, but it remains the most possible of the theories purposed.”

“Which means,” Akira began, “that until the extent of JFX’s powers are known, cornering him will prove difficult. Suitable countermeasures are difficult to determine when we lack such vital information.”

Natsuki straightened. “But why are we here? Why are we hidden like this? Where _are_ we?”

“As D.U.C.K.’s monitoring systems were damaged during JFX’s escape, there was a short window of time where individuals could be transported without triggering these standard monitoring systems. Assuming JFX has access to D.U.C.K.’s databases, he will have no information on the current location of any of you. The last records will show you as being in Enoshima. Even if we attempted to mask your travel, that would require purposefully accessing the database using your criteria, which could inadvertently alert JFX to your current location.

Our mission was given to us by the President himself. The first order was for Nayar and I to take the potential targets away from Enoshima without alerting D.U.C.K.’s monitoring systems. We were given a very short window in which this would be safe.”

 Natsuki scowled. “You haven’t answered my third question, Akira.”

“I cannot answer that question.”

“You’re not going to give us a _city_ at least?”

Akira shook his head. “I cannot do that.”

For a long time, ever since Akira had shoved him into the galley and strode away without a word, a dark thought had lurked in Yuki’s mind. His heart was pounding still, constricting his breathing and muddling his thoughts. Natsuki’s arm remained by his, tanned from the sun and dusted with light freckles, sparse and disordered like distant stars. If he asked, Natsuki would hold him, grounding him as the fear crashed in and dragged him down. Akira would do the same, as would Haru, but Natsuki, his expression tight and fixed, set in that indomitable scowl, was the only one to make his heart beat even faster and scatter his wayward thoughts.

If they were alone, would he act differently? Without the wide-eyed stare of Haru and the calculating gaze of the agents, would Natsuki’s lips reach his?

Slowly, Yuki pulled away, taking a step away from the table and pushing the surprised flinch from Natsuki out of his mind. What he needed was strength and conviction, not some fantasy to hide and cower under while his world continued to spin.

“Akira, was my grandmother ever…” Nails scrapped his palms as he shook, staring hard into the unflinching dark of Akira’s eyes. “Y-You made sure she was safe, didn’t you?”

Akira nodded and the ensuing wave of relief almost sent him to his knees. For so long, the question had choked him, balled in his throat and growing larger with each passing day.

“Coco remained to both assist the onsite D.U.C.K. agents and ensure that targeted individuals were securely transferred to safehouses. While your grandmother’s care is an aspect of Nayar and I’s current mission, it is being carried out by different agents. The Usami family has also been temporarily relocated and remains under supervision.”

Haru perked up. “Coco is with D.U.C.K.?”

“Under the instruction of AOX, she is aiding our investigation,” Linda replied. At Haru’s visible confusion, she stated, “AOX is how D.U.C.K. refers to your homeworld.”

“What is Coco doing? Is it dangerous?”

“Of course not,” Akira replied. “Coco is primarily aiding us in our communications with AOX.”

Haru’s shoulders sagged. He looked deflated, even the tips of his hair drooping appropriately. “That’s good. That’s…very good. Thank you, Akira.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“That’s not true!” Haru’s arms shot out, gesturing to the room at large. Even though it swayed and pitched, bobbing like a small ship caught in the swell of a great wave, his voice carried well. “Everyone has done so much to protect Yuki and Natsuki and I, and when you feel the way Yuki and Natsuki and I do, you’re supposed to bow and say ‘Thank you’ as loud as you can. Thank you, everyone. Thank you for helping us.”

“You’re a bit on the loud side,” Natsuki muttered.

Grinning, Haru replied, “’Loudness represents sincerity.’ That’s what Keito said to me!”

Akira smiled. “It’s an interesting theory,” he admitted.

Over and over, Natsuki had turned to interviewers and bragged about the ‘cute redhead’ waiting for him back home. Yuki had read and watched and, in response, said absolutely nothing.

 _“That’s not always true,”_ he wanted to say, dispelling his guilt and taking Natsuki’s hand in his. _“Honesty can be what lies beneath the surface. It doesn’t have to be visible or loud to be real.”_ But his conviction wavered and his hands remained empty, clenched, and cold.

\---

As Natsuki had predicted, boredom came swiftly.

The supplied pack of cards was put to frequent use, but there were only so many games of Go Fish and poker that a human being could tolerate. The emphasis on humans was important as Haru, the only not-human member of their group, was content to play the same game over and over again. After the 30th game of Go Fish, Yuki declared the game banned from the basement, the declaration meet with earnest agreement from Natsuki and loud whining from Haru.

At first, they used potato chips to bet for poker. Natsuki did not see the obvious flaw in his plan until Haru ate all of their chips, leaving Yuki, who had been sneaking chips into his pockets, with an undeserved but decisive victory.

“What else can we use?” Haru asked as he began to tear the room apart, diving headfirst into an open cabinet and burrowing inside until his entire upper body vanished.

“There’s nothing but clothes in there,” Natsuki said, grabbing one of Haru’s flailing legs and yanking him out.

Haru tumbled onto the ground, the pink apron lying across his face. “Can we use clothes for the game?” he suggested innocently, gesturing to the overflowing cabinet behind him.

Of course, the glint in Natsuki’s eyes was far less innocent. “What an _interesting_ idea, Haru. Using _clothes_ to make bets in our poker game…”

“We have lots of clothes!” Haru said, picking the apron off his face and throwing it haphazardly on top of the pile. “We can use shirts or pants or boxers or-”

As Haru continued, prattling on with his usual misguided enthusiasm, Yuki mentally cursed Natsuki in every language he knew. Of course Natsuki looked entirely too pleased with himself, grinning wildly as he nodded along with Haru’s suggestions.

He glanced at Yuki, his grin widening even further. “Actually, Haru, I had a slightly _different_ game in mind. What if we-”

“I’m going to stop you boys there,” said a distinctly female voice from the radio.

“A-A-A-Agent Nayar? Is that you?” Yuki heard his voice crack and, under normal circumstances, he would’ve blushed and stuttered in reaction. As things were, he couldn’t blush or stutter any harder.

“Yes, it is.”

He gulped. “I-I-Is Akira there?”

“My darling fiancé isn’t here at the moment.” She sighed loudly, muttering what sounded like _“I need a drink_ ” in English. After regaining her composure, she wearily continued. “He did warn me about this… He feared the confined space would cause you boys to ‘give in to your baser instincts’, which translates to either fighting or fuc-”

“OKAY, I think we get the picture!” Yuki declared loudly, covering Haru’s ears. Natsuki was laughing.

 “-and, with the way things were progressing, my bet was on the latter of the two.”

“Is there an actual _reason_ why you’re spying on us?” Yuki asked, Haru wiggling and stepping on his toes.

“Well, technically I _was_ spying on you. The standard observation period ended ten minutes ago, but it seems I forgot to terminate my audio feed…  Of course, if I _had_ terminated it, I wouldn’t have been able to intervene.”

Natsuki tried to stop laughing and put on his patented Serious Face, but he failed miserably. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

She snorted. “You’re welcome. I’ll close the feed now. Goodbye.”

 “Goodbye,” Yuki muttered, Haru finally wiggling free and enveloping him in a tight embrace. Natsuki had managed to restrain himself better, his earlier outburst reduced to a series of low chuckles. While it was nice to hear him laugh, Yuki preferred that it _wasn’t_ at his expense.

“Well, the problem of the betting chips still remains,” Natsuki said. He gathered and shuffled the cards with ease, his longer fingers aiding in the task. “Using food is no longer an option for obvious reasons…”

Haru whirled around, stepping on Yuki’s feet again. “Let’s play Go Fish!”

“Haru, Go Fish was banished just a couple of hours-”

“I declare it unbanished!”

Natsuki stared at him in complete disbelief. “Yuki, you _seriously_ want to play Go Fish again?”

Steadily, he replied, “Agent Nayar disapproved of our poker game, so maybe we should play a more…uhh… _passive_ game.”

While Natsuki continued to shuffle, he remained unconvinced, an eyebrow cocked in suspicion. “Let me rephrase the question. Yuki, do you seriously want to endure even more fishing puns?”

“How many more could you possibly have?”

As the 35th game drew to a close, Yuki learned the hard way that Natsuki was in possession of a seemingly infinite supply of fishing puns.  

“I really hate you sometimes.”

“So what’s you’re saying is that I should dolphinitely scale back on the fish puns.”

“Hey genius, dolphins aren’t fish!”

“Well, Yuki, if you can think of a better pun, let minnow.”

“I’m going to strangle you.”

“I won’t give you the oppor-tuna-ty.”

“…”

“…Also, go fish.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything is stolen from fishpuns.com. I’m not nearly that clever. OR, SHOULD I SAY, I cod try coming up with my own puns but I’m too lazeel to do so! …I’m done.
> 
> Why Nayar was monitoring them is detailed next chapter, which makes this note…unnecessary. Oh. Oops.
> 
> …Onwards?


	6. Simplicity

When Akira chimed in, requesting entry into the room, Yuki was more than happy to comply, throwing down his cards and dashing over to the electronic lock. The door swung open and Akira, dressed in a flamboyantly patterned shirt, strode inside, radiating confidence and even twirling as he faced the group.

“My fiancée reported that you boys were getting frisky,” he said and suddenly Yuki completely understood Akira’s strange mood. If Akira acted like a protective older brother half the time, he was a mischievous younger sibling for the other half. If the smugness saturating his tone wasn’t enough, he leaned over and _winked_ at Yuki.

When Linda did not immediately reproach her ‘fiancé’, Yuki, after willing the blush from his face, asked, “Is the spying really over?”

Akira nodded. “Yes. I apologize for not informing you boys earlier, but our method required ignorance on the part of the subjects to avoid intentional tapering with the data. Confined environments, especially of this size, can cause unnecessary stress. Thankfully, all of you appear to be doing well. If additional monitoring is required, I will personally inform you first.”

 “You know, it’s difficult to trust someone who invades your privacy like that,” Natsuki said. “How do we know you’re not lying?”

Sheepishly, Akira muttered, “Nayar would have berated me just now for using ‘fiancée’ when not on active duty. For a more technical demonstration, I’ll instruct you boys on how the communications operate. All incoming or outgoing transmissions are logged in the computer down here.” Following Akira’s lead, they clustered around the communications desk while Akira gave a brief lesson on how the system worked. In hindsight, it was painfully obvious that entering the same code used to lock the door into the computer might have unlocked it.

“Sometimes the best disguises are the most obvious ones,” Akira said. “So, to summarize, once you’re logged in, the active channels are visible here and here. As the monitoring period is over, all incoming transmissions must be answered before they can access the microphones or cameras. This is a preventive measure in case Nayar or I become… _compromised_.”

“So now you can’t listen to us while we’re sleeping or anything creepy like that,” Natsuki observed.

“It’s not like I _enjoyed_ doing that,” Akira muttered. There was a lull in his enthusiasm, his usually sharp gaze glazed and distant. He recovered quickly, throwing a friendly arm around Yuki’s shoulders and shaking him. “But that’s in the past. I swear that no one is looking at or listening in on you boys down here. Well, no one but the other boys…”

“If you say ‘you boys’ one more time, I’m going to turn your shirt into lining for Tapioca’s cage,” Natsuki warned. Akira recoiled, arms shielding the garish shirt.

“The role I’m playing in this mission is…difficult. Admittedly, I’m going a bit stir-crazy.”

“That would explain the shirt.”

“I’ll have you know this is from Prada’s latest collection, which was declared a ‘masterpiece’ by esteemed fashion insiders and critics such as-”

“Um, Akira.”

Although he had purposeful (and wisely) interrupted, Yuki had no idea what to say. The longer he remained silent, the more intolerably smug Akira became. Perhaps confiding in him about Natsuki had been a bad idea.

“As much as I love conversing with all of you, I actually came here for Haru’s assistance,” he said smoothly, _too_ smoothly for Yuki’s liking. He had clearly planned every detail of his conversation, down to the arm slung casually around Yuki’s shoulder and the way he positioned himself across from Natsuki. It was all to cause intrigue.

“I’ll help!” Haru said.

“You should ask what the terms are first,” Natsuki suggested.

“Oh. Terms, Akira! Terms!”

“AOX has recommended we test the MPI levels in various fluids. To do so, we need an available alien and Coco is busy at the moment. If it’s not too much trouble, I was hoping Haru could assist us. It should take about an hour at most.”

Yuki cleared his throat. “This won’t hurt Haru, will it?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Akira replied, rolling his eyes. “I’m seeing if Haru could, theoretically, cover a person in complex substance, such as butter, and then control them using only that substance. The experiment involves placing Haru in front of various substances and seeing if they react to his presence.”

“So, Haru gets to sit in front of stuff and see what happens?”

“It sounds simple, but it’s actually a very complex procedure, especially since we are not at Central Headquarters. My equipment _should_ prove sufficient.”

Haru was quiet, patiently waiting for Yuki’s approval. When he nodded, the alien smiled and enthusiastically grabbed Akira’s hands, spinning the two of them around. “Let’s go, let’s go!” he exclaimed.

As he ruffled Haru’s short hair, Akira grinned at Yuki. “Of course. While we’re away, I trust you boys will behave yourselves down here…”

Despite his best efforts, Yuki knew his face was covered in a thick red blush. Thankfully, Natsuki took charge, shoving the gleeful Akira and his innocent cohort out the door before locking it tightly.

“I think Akira’s gotten a _lot_ crazier over the past three days than I realized,” Natsuki said.

Yuki shrugged. “It’s his way of apologizing. Keeping all of this from us probably hurt him a lot. You…” He bit his lip, debating his next sentence. “Y-You should be a little easier on him.”

He expected confusion, for Natsuki to whirl around and demand that Yuki explain himself, explain just how _he_ was the unreasonable one. Instead, Natsuki turned away, his empty hands stark and alluring, the curve of his fingers matching the crest of a low wave.

If something was truly fragile and truly important, Natsuki’s attitude changed; the once-weak ties that bound him to Yuki had strengthen over time, and the strange quiet, the trembling curve of his hands, had little precedence between the two of them. Enoshima was far away, and with it laid the memory of that afternoon on the hill, of Natsuki unapologetically and openingly admitting what Yuki could not.

He stared at the empty place in Natsuki’s hand where his own could fit.

“Actually, there’s something I’ve wanted to say for awhile now and… Well, with how things are, I might not get to say it again anytime soon. That’s alright with you, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Natsuki replied. His hesitation subdued Yuki’s own.

“I know about the interviews you’ve been giving overseas,” he said. Natsuki’s expression did not change. He continued. “Actually, I’ve know about it for a long time. I should’ve said something about it, but I just…”

“Yuki.”

“Natsuki, what are we? Are we friends or…” He had to look away, his eyes burning. “W-What’s happening to us?”

\---

_“Yuki, we’re not-”_

_“Bullshit,” he snapped, smoothing out the note and holding it out to Urara. “What’s this, then? If we’re not friends, then what is this?”_

_“I-”_

_“Right. Of course.” He chuckled and looked at the single word, ‘_ Sayonara _'. “You probably don’t know, do you?”_

\---

An echo of Urara lingered, but it was simply that: a thin and powerless echo.

\---

“I was joking at first,” Natsuki said. “I…was going to tell you about the interviews.”

“But you never did.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Do you know why?”

Natsuki had stepped closer. “Yes,” he confessed.

Every detail of him, from the steady line of his shoulders to the dark of his eyes to the sharp dip in his collarbone, was overwhelming, suddenly too real and close and, the most of intense and alluring of all, _possible_.

His lips met Natsuki’s and were eagerly accepted.

\---

Yuki had never expected his first kiss to take place in the underground panic room of an American safe house while two extraterrestrial investigators carried out an experiment upstairs involving an enthusiastic alien, attempted mind control, and a copious amount of butter.

When he told that to Natsuki, Natsuki rolled his eyes and replied that Yuki didn’t have a very active imagination.

“If you think _that’s_ normal, then I don’t want to be inside your head,” Yuki muttered, idly stroking Natsuki’s side as they lay entangled on his futon. While he was very, _very_ curious to see just what two teenage boys could do with one another, kissing was intimidating enough for him. Plus, if playing with the hem of Natsuki’s shirt was enough to send him blushing and stuttering into incoherency, anything further was obviously outside of Natsuki’s comfort zone.

As Yuki ran his thumb over Natsuki’s, marveling at just how much longer the other boy’s fingers were, Natsuki blurted out, “I thought you were straight.”

He turned light pink as Yuki stared at him in confusion.

“ _Why_ would you think that?”

“W-Well, you were so nervous around Erika and blushed all the time and once you stuttered for like five minutes after she noticed you and…” He sighed. “See, I shouldn’t have said that. Now I’m starting to sound like _you_.”

“If you start to go all ‘demonface', I’ll snap you out of it,” Yuki replied dryly. “Also, if you _haven’t_ noticed by now, I used to act that way around everyone, including you.”

Natsuki grinned and boldly ran a hand down Yuki’s back. “Oh? Do you have any stories about being overwhelmed by my wit and handsomeness?”

“I don’t have any.”

The hand settled in the small of his back, the pressure bringing their bodies closer until only a sliver of space remained. It was surprising how naturally their mouths fit together, Natsuki content to let him set the pace. The sound of them parting, that quiet ‘pop’ hidden under Natsuki’s soft gasp, made the moment acutely real.

“Perhaps I should change that,” Natsuki muttered and Yuki _felt_ the words, every movement of Natsuki’s lips touching his own.

They kissed and everything he felt was real.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ….A-Actually, Yuki’s first kiss took place in Chapter Four of ‘A Wandering Wave’ and Urara told him about it in Chapter Five. I figure he doesn’t consider anything Urara made him do ‘real’ and neither does Natsuki.  
> …Onwards!


	7. Reactionary

To say that Akira was smug would be a massive understatement.

As planned, Natsuki was on the other side of the room and mundanely folding clothes while Yuki swept the kitchen floor. For Akira to simply walk into the room and _know_ was preposterous, but there was no other logical explanation.

“I’m so proud of you,” he said, wiping away a nonexistent tear.

Eloquent as always, Natsuki dropped a pile of shirts, smacked himself in the forehead, and muttered, “God, _why_?” as Akira began to tear up, sniffing loudly.

“I’ll admit that I’m too emotional involved in the affairs of my young friends,” Akira began, gesturing wildly, “but seeing your happiness gives me so much of my own.

“Sorry to interrupt your… _emotions_ ,” Yuki said, sweeping the same patch of floor for the third time, “but how is Haru doing? Did the experiments go alright?”

Akira’s theatrics stopped as quickly as they began, his usual professional taking over. “Haru is a little tired, but the experiments provided us with some interesting results. I may borrow him more often, after he’s rested of course.”

Right on cue, Haru stumbled down the stairs and smacked headfirst into Akira’s back, sighing groggily. “Mmhmph…  Akiiiiiiiira… I’m too tired. Carry me.”

Leaning the broom against the wall, Yuki pried the sleepy alien off Akira and pointed him at the futons.

“Go lie down, Haru.”

Blearily, Haru nodded and obediently trod over to his futon, collapsing with a sigh and landing spread-eagle, his arms and legs on Yuki and Natsuki’s futons.

Natsuki raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t make him run laps, did you?”

“Of course not,” Akira replied. “Exerting his influence has an adverse effect on his stamina. Admittedly, I should have stopped the testing earlier, but Haru was determined to continue.”

Yuki frowned, ruffling Haru’s short blond hair. The alien sighed contently. “He just needs to rest, right? We don’t have to hose him down or anything?”

“Haru’s had plenty of water. It’s simply fatigue.”

He smiled. “Haru’s already asleep.”

“We should be quiet then,” Natsuki observed, tossing the clothes back into the cabinet and gently closing the doors.

Like someone had flipped a switch, Akira’s demeanor changed. “Yes, I’m sure that will be difficult for the two of you.”

Similarly, Natsuki turned suddenly, his eyes narrowed at Yuki. “Wait a second. Akira’s been acting strange for some time now… Did he know…?”

“Did I know _what_?” Akira snapped.

“Yuki, you didn’t tell him that…?”

“Tell me _what_?”

Yuki smacked himself in the forehead, hoping that the impact would erase his memory and get him out of the conversation. He had no such luck. Natsuki continued to stare.

“W-W-Well, I m-may have…” Natsuki’s stare felt very judgmental. “Okay, see, I tried asking Akira for advice about the whole…c-cute redhead…thing…”

Natsuki sputtered, “Why would you ask _Akira_ for advice?”

Much to Yuki’s immediate relief, Akira’s focus abruptly changed to Natsuki. “A better question is why _wouldn’t_ Yuki ask me for advice?

“You’re no Casanova.”

“Excuse me?”

“I think you heard what I said.”

“I think I did. I think I heard you challenging my reputation as a worldly and _experienced_ individual.”

“I think you heard correctly.”

“Well, _I_ think-”

“I think we should try and keep it down,” Yuki said. “You know, for Haru’s sake.”

While Natsuki had the decency to look guilty, Akira smirked, crossed his arms, and said, “Why, it seems Natsuki is rubbing off on you, Yuki.” Akira’s voice conspicuously lowered around the words ‘rubbing’ and ‘off’, and Yuki knew he was blushing hard enough to match his hair. Blissfully, Akira continued, “I heard that couples often take after one another. Natsuki’s fortitude and your determination will complement each other nicely.”

Keenly, Natsuki matched Akira’s smirk and replied, “If that’s true, a better question is who has been rubbing off on _you_?”

Akira frowned. “I…don’t follow.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Akira, but you’ve been acting pretty strange lately. Even when we out on your boat, you were a little too enthusiastic and, dare I say, flamboyant at times.”

“I still don’t follow…”

“If I’m taking after Yuki and Yuki is taking after me, the question is _who_ are _you_ taking after? There must be someone, right?”

Akira wore the expression of a man who had lost a double-or-nothing bet on a game show and was watching his newly acquired fortune be carried away backstage while some peppy host called for a commercial break, the loud jingle for a new line of soda pop sailing in over the loudspeakers and muffling the poor man’s anguish as the fortune finally disappeared from view, never to be reclaimed.

“I-It’s Agent Nayar,” Akira exclaimed. “By pretending to be engaged, I-I’m clearly feeling the simulated emotions of such a relationship. Yes. That’s what it is.”

Natsuki shook his head. “No, no. That’s not it… Agent Nayar’s personality isn’t nearly this energetic. I’d say you’re imitating someone with a bit more pizzazz…”

The pieces seemed to fit together so perfectly.

“That sounds like your boss,” Yuki blurted out. “The guy with the lipstick and big sunglasses.”

“T-T-T-That’s n-n-not…”

“It makes sense,” Natsuki said, nodding approvingly. “We’ve only met the D.U.C.K. President twice, but he definitely made quite the impression.”

Dejected, Akira buried his head in his hands. “In exchange for _never_ bringing this topic up again, I agree to stop teasing the two of you about anything romantic or vaguely relationship-centric. Do you agree to my terms?”

“Of course.”

“Obviously.”

“Perfect.” Akira turned sharply on his heel and strode out the door. “Now to forget this conversation ever happened…”

\-------------------------

Earl Hopland was a squat man with thick glasses and a perpetual air of malcontent. If it wasn’t for the unique colour and fit of his D.U.C.K. suit, the eared garment dull grey instead of the usual yellow, Urara wouldn’t have spared him a thought.

After his successful ambush, Hopland’s personal guard ‘misplaced’ somewhere on the coast, he was pleasantly surprised to discover that not only was Hopland an associate of President Ace’s, he was also one of the four with intimidate knowledge of Yamada’s high-priority mission. As he listened to the bumbling man talk, sweat pouring down his face from the high sun, Urara felt very, very lucky.

As expected, D.U.C.K. agents, some less conspicuous than others, patrolled every inch of Enoshima. Urara masked himself as Hopland’s guard and escorted the controlled man as he visited various outposts and bases, nodding at the appropriate time and ordering the agents as Urara commanded.

\---

Hopland’s car turned up a familiar hill, the little yellow house at the end covered in vibrant green vines.

The nameplate had four names still.

\---

The travel wore Urara down, as did the constant focus and anxiety. One second of release would turn the man next to him into an enemy with a high rank. Hopland wove through throngs of D.U.C.K. officers with ease, his masked guard, intended for protection against the rouge JFX, shadowing his steps. A suspicious eye was rarely cast over Urara’s opaque face mask. The paranoid man he was guarding evaded further speculation. Two weeks proved to be Urara’s limit and he, carefully, removed Hopland from the entangled command structure of Enoshima’s guard, citing concerns about the recovery of Eastern Headquarters.

At night, he shoved a ball gag in the old man’s mouth, tied his arms and legs, and shoved him somewhere with a locked door and no sharp objects. After a short four hours, he woke, drenched himself with tap water, dressed, and took control once more. Sometimes the eye patch itched, what-was-beneath reacting to the chill of the water.

Calls with Ace with were frequent and difficult. The President conversed in circles, the entire point of the conversation masked until, after hours of focus and debate, they arrived back at the origin. From there, the circle would rotate again, continuing in its endless cycle until something of true importance, usually a senior member of D.U.C.K. seeking an audience with Ace, would disrupt its perpetual motion.

Although Urara wanted, _needed_ , to leave for America, he first had to pass Ace’s test.

The key was Yamada or, more specifically, Yamada’s suspected relationship with Ace.

“He’s an odd choice for a protégé,” Hopland said into his communicator

Ace’s blurred face frowned, his bright lip colour exaggerating the expression. Urara remembered him from the first procedure, the flamboyant man cryptically telling Madam Roussel _“Our greatest flaw is our humanity, and yet it is also our greatest strength”_ before the first tool cut in. As Urara watched the puppeted Hopland deceive Ace’s keen mind, he found the latter part of Ace’s statement to be false.

“I don’t know _where_ everyone gets all of this _protégé_ nonsense.” Ace spoke in his usual overdramatic fashion, laying one long-nailed hand against his forehead as he wailed. “God forbid I’m openly appreciative of the hard, _hard_ work my beloved agents put into their assignments. Why, Yamada works himself to the bone and if I dare to notice, I’m accused of _favoritism_.”

“You damn well know that’s not the issue here,” Hopland grumbled. Over his shoulder, Urara, masked, offered him a glass of water. “Yamada’s rising through the ranks like mad and the senior members, myself included, and even the Council see this as a power play by a _certain_ person. With both Central and Eastern Headquarters under your control, do you really think that any of us will have a damn say in _anything_ this organization does?”

“You’re treading in dangerous waters,” Ace warned.

“So you see honesty as a threat, Mr. President?”

“There’s a clear difference between honesty and delusion, _Hopland_ , and I’m not sure you understand that difference.” There was a calculated pause, Ace’s frown deepening. “You want something from me, don’t you? What is it? While I’ll admit to feeling a little _low_ on generosity, I’m curious nonetheless and promise to listen. …Although, I suppose the _real_ question is why you consider my relationship with Yamada effective blackmail.”

“I do have a request to make.”           

“A request that’s worth testing my patience?”

Urara swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Yes,” Hopland confirmed.

“I’m curious. Please, continue.”

Hopland took the offered glass of water and drained it. He faced Ace with furrowed brows and a dark scowl, the empty glass clasped tightly in his large hands. “I need to confirm with unbiased eyes that Sanada Yuki is safe.”

Ace smirked and replied in his usual long drawl, “Why, Hopland, it seems like you’ve taken on quite the difficult task.”

Urara found himself with a renewed hatred for humans and their art of conversation.

“I…do not understand.”

Ace removed his sunglasses, the eyes revealed narrowed and startling in their intensity, burrowing through the screen and Hopland’s very flesh. Once they flickered to Urara’s opaque mask, narrowing even further.

“You’ve made your request and, as promised, I’ve listened. Now, the real challenge begins.” His smirk widen, curving like the blade of a raised scythe. “Now, your task is to convince _me_.”

If there was no shadow cast by the drowned boy to chase, Urara would have gladly traveled to Central Headquarters and wrung Ace’s neck.

\-------------------------

If it wasn’t for the treadmills Linda had lugged down the stairs, the constant confinement would have driven Yuki crazy. Haru was the only one allowed upstairs and, from what little he said of the incidents, the surroundings were equally dull and boring.

After the first week, Natsuki stopped complaining about D.U.C.K.’s excessive security and started making slight jabs at Akira, letting bits of innuendo slip into their short conversations and fluster and frustrate the stoic agent. Akira came by the basement less frequently, which was something Natsuki refused to take the blame for.

“He’s an adult,” he said, his shirt riding up as he did sit-ups on the floor. “Akira should know how to take a joke by now.”

Haru piped up, “But Akira hates jokes.”

The exposed strip of his stomach flexed, the skin there paler than his arms and neck. Resolutely, Yuki ran harder, pushing out the taunting thought of seeing more of his chest, of feeling the sharp lines of Natsuki’s hipbones against his own.

“Since when?” Natsuki asked, pushing his long bangs out of his face, the tips clinging to his damp forehead.

“Since forever,” Haru stated. Of the three of them, he adapted best to the enclosed surroundings, seemingly unperturbed by the lack of fresh air and free space. While his human roommates exercised and banged their heads on the wall, pained by intense boredom, the alien simply laughed and played yet another game of solitaire, shouting " _Go Fish!_ " regardless of whether he won or lost or if it was even relevant to the game.

“You should move the King,” Natsuki advised Haru, his shirt refusing to fall back into place. “Also, I can’t believe no one told me that. My English tutoring involved a lot of puns…”

“Maybe that’s why you found it so difficult,” Yuki muttered, his worn sneakers smacking against the tread. “It’s not wise to antagonize your tutor, especially when your tutor is Akira.”

Natsuki grinned. “I’m sure you had a similar experience.”

Slowing the speed, Yuki glanced over. His breathing was hard and sweat stuck to his chest, the fabric of his borrowed shirt itching.

“What do you mean?” he asked and immediately regretted it, Natsuki’s too-pleased expression indicating that he had just blissfully walked straight into a trap.

“Well, wasn’t Akira your ‘Tutor of Love’?”

It was a small miracle that he didn’t fall off the treadmill, grasping the handrails for dear life and slamming on the controls, the tread lurching to a sudden stop. He stormed over to Natsuki, reached for the front of his shirt, intending to shake him or throttle him or screw him, and stopped, his mind going completely blank except for that strip of exposed skin.

“You don’t know what you’re… Y-You don’t know…” He gulped, desperately seeking air or sanity or whatever the hell would give him a shot of common sense and remind him that his entire life did not revolve around Natsuki or screwing Natsuki or not-screwing Natsuki and wasn’t there a sentence he was supposed to be finishing? “He wasn’t my tutor in anything, especially _that_.”

Grinning, Natsuki laid on the floor, his body stretching out and flexing in subtle, damning ways. The line from his neck to his collarbone curved sharply, drawing Yuki’s wandering eye.

“You sound a tad defensive, Yuki,” he said, too softly and too deliberately to fool Yuki. Natsuki knew just what he was doing and, more importantly, he knew what it was doing _to_ Yuki.

“You’re such a jerk sometimes,” Yuki muttered, crossing his arms and staring resolutely at the wall. Thankfully, Haru had remained engrossed in his game of solitaire during their ‘discussion’. Yuki wasn’t quite prepared to explain the birds and the bees (or, for Haru’s sake, the whales and the fishes) to their resident alien, fearful of the many embarrassing and probing questions the ever-inquisitive Haru would ask and the crass answers Natsuki would provide.

Of course, that wasn’t the most embarrassing possible scenario. Despite Akira’s agreement to stay out of their affairs, Yuki lived in fear of Akira bursting through the door, throwing a package of condoms at him, and yelling some obnoxious slogan like " _Always keep safety first_ " or " _Wrap it before you trap it_ " as the package collided with his head.

Needless to say, Natsuki’s impromptu displays were not appreciated. Yuki had enough trouble battling his hormones without his friend, _boyfriend_ , making matters worse.

When there was a sudden beep from the communications desk, Yuki leapt at the opportunity. The message was Akira’s usual one. “Haru, you should get ready. Akira says he’s on his way.”

Haru sighed, fell backwards, and rolled around on the floor, his mouth set a resolute pout. “Boo… I’m not done my card game!”

“You’re also in your pajamas,” Natsuki observed.

Yuki frowned. “Actually, those are my pajamas.”

After Haru changed (which involved Yuki chasing him around the room and prying the clothes off him while Haru rolled around and squealed), Natsuki unlocked the door and gave Akira his usual judgmental stare as the agent entered the room.

“Good afternoon,” he said.

“Good afternoon,” Yuki replied, inclining his head politely.

Akira’s left wrist was wrapped in a white bandage. As his eyes traced the shape, noting just how thick the wrappings were, Akira’s expression darkened.

“An accident three days ago,” he said. “It was not serious.”

“You met with Haru three days ago,” Natsuki commented, crossing his arms. “Was it a result of your little sessions?”

“We're not doing anything dangerous, I assure you.”

“Haru, did you see what happened?” Yuki asked softly, bumping their hands together.

Blearily, Haru looked up at him, his eyes wide but distant. He shook his head once, the silence thick with a quiet, supernatural strength.

“I guess even secret agents make mistakes sometimes,” Yuki said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Very rarely,” Akira said, “especially when compared to civilians.”

 “Oh, really? I seem to recall a _certain_ agent making quite the slip-up recently,” Natsuki observed.

Copiously, Akira pulled on his shirt collar. “Slip-ups are twice as rare,” he declared with unnecessary force, a blush rising on his face.

Before Natsuki could slip the words ‘sunglasses’ or ‘lipstick’ into the conversation, Yuki interjected, “Please be careful, Akira. I know your job can be dangerous, but still…”       

“While I appreciate the thought, it’s unnecessary,” Akira swiftly replied, straightening his shirt cuffs as he fidgeted in embarrassment. “However, I must thank you for…your concern. Thank you.”

“Let’s not get all sappy,” Natsuki muttered, crossing his arms tighter.

“For once, I agree with Natsuki. Haru, let’s be on our way.”

Yuki perked up. “How long do you think…?”

“One day at the most.” Before Yuki could reply, Akira continued. “Don’t worry, Yuki. I _am_ an expert on extraterrestrials. Haru will be safe with me.”

Natsuki rolled his eyes. “It’s not Haru he’s worried about.”

When Akira left, his expression slipped, a sliver of honesty showing through. It was then that Yuki smiled, meeting Akira’s open gaze. When he thanked his friend, he knew that it meant something, perhaps something more than words could describe.

“He’s really a good person,” Natsuki said, taking Yuki’s hand in his. “I don’t think he understands just how good.”

“You should try telling him.”

“You did just now. It’s impossible, isn’t it?”

He tangled their fingers together, Natsuki’s long ones sliding against his.

“Not impossible, Natsuki. Just difficult.”

\---


	8. Seek Shelter

Roving hands traveled up his back, slipping under his shirt and caressing naked skin. He pressed Natsuki against the futon, locking their lips as the hands traced a path down, slowly running along his arched spine.

When he broke away and lifted his shirt over his head, letting it fall in a pile on the floor, Natsuki’s eyes widened.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the shy one?” he asked, his hands trembling as they settled on Yuki’s hips, tracing the slight dip they found there.

“It’s a fair trade,” Yuki said, smirking. “If my shirt goes, yours does too.”

 He expected a power move, for Natsuki to flip him over and take control, the kisses turning desperate and hot. Instead, Natsuki stayed where he was, his thumbs running over Yuki’s hipbones.

When their gazes locked, Yuki found himself entranced, Natsuki’s eyes as bold as his hands.  

“Take if off me,” he said, his tone heady and low, settling in every curve of Yuki’s body and spreading out in a controlled heat.

Natsuki’s hips were between his thighs. The hands balanced him. When he leaned down, grabbing the end of Natsuki’s shirt, they adjusted, palms tight against the fabric of his jeans.

“Arms over your head.”

The shirt came off too quickly, leaving Natsuki’s glasses askew and his hair mused, but Yuki could only mumble a quick apology, his empty mouth seeking Natsuki’s and drawing in the ensuing gasp like air. The hands grasped his hips, long fingers searing his bare skin.

“Yuki…”

They were past embarrassment now, the name slipping free with a breathy moan. Yuki kissed his neck, Natsuki’s long hair brushing his cheek.

“Y-Yuki… I…”

It was strange how natural it felt to be with Natsuki like this. His hands trailed down Natsuki’s chest, noting every dip and swell of lean muscle. Beneath him, Natsuki moaned, his breathing as ragged as Yuki’s own.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked, eyes tracing the low ‘v’ that ended below Natsuki’s jeans.

Natsuki laughed softly, his thumbs hooking into the loops of Yuki’s jeans, the slight pull baring more of his hips. Natsuki watched the shift eagerly, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath.

“No,” he replied, baring his neck as Yuki kissed it again, running his tongue up and along the sharp point of Natsuki’s jaw line. He elicited a shiver, one he could feel between his spread thighs.

Natsuki threw back his head, teeth tightly clenched. It was all the encouragement Yuki needed to bring their hips together, his thighs spreading further.

Natsuki’s fingers dug in, holding him still. The friction would be good, _too_ good.

“Y-Yuki, I can’t _stop_ if we go…”

“I know,” he said, placing his hands over Natsuki’s and squeezing. “It’s the same for me.”

He watched Natsuki’s chest rise and fall.

“Yuki, I… I trust you.” Slowly, Natsuki’s eyes met his. “Let’s do this.”

Yuki wasn’t listening.

\---

_“You assaulted me,” he said. The words hurt, hard to say and harder to hear._

_Urara’s head was bowed, hands tangled in his flyaway hair. “Yes,” he whispered, waves crashing. “Yes, I did.”_

_“I…trusted you.”_

_Something inaudible snapped and when Urara looked at him, the person he knew was gone._

\---

_The pale of his skin was mottled and stretched, twisting his gentle features into something inhuman._

_Urara was grinning, wide and indulgent._

\---

“Yuki?”

A hand touched his face.

\---

_“We’re alone here,” he said._

\---

“Yuki, can you hear me?”

“Yes,” he said.

He was on his back with a worried Natsuki hovering over him. As he stared at Natsuki’s bare chest and noted his own missing shirt, he came to a very sudden and embarrassing realization.

“I freaked out right before we were going to have sex, didn’t I?”

Natsuki turned five different shades of red before he nodded. “Y-Yeah… I guess you could put it that way… But, more importantly,” he said, adjusting the damp cloth on Yuki’s forehead, “how are you feeling? Do I need to call someone or get you anything or…?”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, grabbing Natsuki’s wrists. “ _You’re_ the one who needs to calm down.”

After some arguing, he managed to convince Natsuki to lie down with him, his head on Natsuki’s chest. The room was dark and, without Haru, empty.

“I’m sorry.”

Natsuki frowned and wearily cleaned his glasses with Yuki’s discarded shirt, avoiding eye contact.

“You don’t have to say that,” he said.

“But, I-”

“Yuki.”

Natsuki paused, placing his glasses on the floor and stretching his arms out, one wrapping around Yuki’s bare shoulder.

Even from the strange angle, Yuki could see the emotions that crossed his face, the visible despair clawing at his heart.

“You don’t have to apologize to me for anything,” Natsuki said, skin blue-grey in the dark. “I love you and that’s all that matters.”

Speechless, he watched Natsuki’s face. He recognized every emotion, every tilt of his brow and mouth, and yet he had never called any of them ‘love’ before.

When he started to rise, Natsuki’s expression turned perplexed. His hand ran along Yuki’s shoulder, tracing the curve of his bicep before falling to his side.

“What is it?” he asked, concern touching his voice.

Yuki leaned over and kissed him as deeply as he could.

“I love you too,” he said. He expected it to be hard, the kind of statement ripped from a person rather than given, but it wasn’t. “I really do,” he said, emotion seizing him and sending him back to Natsuki, their lips locking as Natsuki traced his jaw, the touch gentle and soft.

When Natsuki’s other hand settled on his hip, palm tightly contoured to that familiar curve, he leaned into it, a low noise escaping his throat. With the lights off, touch outweighed sight, the depth of Natsuki’s mouth more alluring than the expanse of his chest or knotted column of his throat, the slickened heat building to a dizzying high. Blindly, their hips locked, the top button of Natsuki’s jeans cold against his bare skin.

“We shouldn’t sleep like this,” he said, fingers dusting down Natsuki’s side.

“We _should_ sleep,” Natsuki muttered, his gaze unfocused in the dark, sliding over Yuki’s features in short, stuttered movements. “We shouldn’t be doing this, Yuki. It’s not…”

Sighing, he pulled away, the touch of Natsuki’s skin remaining imprinted on his fingertips. The echo ached. “I know. I really, _really_ know. Just five minutes ago I was freaking out and now I’m all over you like nothing’s wrong.” He ran a hand through his hair, the phantom touch clinging still. “We should stop. This isn’t… _right_.”

Natsuki nodded. Idly, his thumbs rubbed circles into Yuki’s hips.

“Hormones are awful,” he said.

“Agreed,” Yuki replied, bonelessly flopping down next to Natsuki, his arm whacking the taller boy in the head. “Although, the hormones wouldn’t be _half_ as distracting if it wasn’t for you.”

Natsuki snorted. “You make it sound like everything is my fault.”

“Well, it is. Stupid, sexy bastard.”

“Please, Yuki, the last thing I need is a bigger ego.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Well, I chose to take it as one.”

“Of course you would.”

Even though he would be stiff and uncomfortable in the morning, Yuki couldn’t bring himself to crawl over to the closet and pull out a change of clothes. As the seconds turned to minutes and soon melted into the timeless daze of night, Natsuki’s arms found his and they entangled themselves, ankles locking under the covers. The hyperactive part of his brain wanted to make the touch sexual, to focus on the curve of Natsuki’s thigh as it softly parted his legs, but Yuki knew that this slow, natural embrace was one of comfort, the kind shared by dear, trusted friends. Usually, it was Haru who curved under his body, the alien pressing his cheek against Yuki’s heartbeat and sleeping soundly through the night, lulled by the steady rhythm. Now, his ear was to Natsuki’s chest, his body the one cradled and held.

\---

Yuki slept as winds of change whipped low breezes into gales.

Towers of waves amassed, toppled, and crashed.

\-------------------------

The tires of Hopland’s car crunched over fine gravel.

Urara lowered the tinted visor of his helmet and snapped it into place. The houseshape loomed, the high pitch of the roof obscuring the pinprick stars and melded black-blue of the night sky. The façade was plain, strangely so for such a pivotal location.

Hopland had been driving for two days straight and had difficulty standing, pitching over when he exited the car, gravel crunching underfoot. Urara followed, extending a reluctant hand to straighten his aged puppet. While the binding strings remained taut, he was beginning to loathe the weight on his mind, the constant sag and pull of the man’s will as it struggled and flailed.

“Please be careful, sir,” he said.

Hopland nodded and mumbled an apology. Urara released his arm and politely stepped behind his apparent superior, waiting for each coordinated step to lead him up the front steps and toward the front door. Hopland rapped his gloved knuckles on the door and waited.

The door cracked open, stopped, and then was released, sliding inwards and revealing the man behind. Clothed so differently and standing with his posture too open was Yamada, his free hand fumbling with something in his back pocket as he took in their appearance. Ace had briefed him on their arrival, and, judging by the way his teeth clenched, Yamada was not pleased by it.

“Sir,” he began, one hand tight on the door, “may I inquire as to why you are not in standard civilian garb?”

Hopland scoffed and rolled his eyes, waving off Yamada’s concern. “A mishap and not a very important one. If you’re worried about attracting the neighbour’s attention, it would be best if we,” he gestured to himself then Urara, “went inside sooner than later.”

A gun was in Yamada’s hands, pointed at Urara’s chest. “I first need to confirm the identity of your guard.”

Rolling his eyes again, Hopland stepped over the threshold. “Agent Yamada, that is hardly-” He stopped, the barrel of Yamada’s gun pressed against his forehead.

“My orders come from a man whose rank is far above your own, _sir_.” The distance between Yamada’s finger and the trigger remained constant, revealing a mind as steady as his hand. “Guard, remove your helmet.”

Unseen, Urara grinned.

“My apologies, sir.”

He raised his hands, empty palms facing the doorway. A cut of shadow fell over Yamada’s face, his left eye, substantial and filled with matter, greying. The filled pit was expressive, the liquid sheen thickest at the inner corner, web-like veins of red gathering there.

He let the moment hang, Yamada’s gun steadying just inches from his chest. When an eye was removed whole, it was with a sickening ‘pop’. Perhaps, once the drowned boy had stilled, Yamada would feel his touch, vengeful and crude as the human’s sense of justice.

The latches on his helmet snapped open and his influence darted out, seizing the red of Yamada’s eyes and extending down, filling his veins with a thick, potent, _alien_ will. The steady barrel of the gun abruptly dipped, dangling between limp fingers as the mind, the body’s controller, succumbed to its invader, submitting with the same natural ease as all humans did.

Tossing his helmet to the ground, Urara stepped inside.


	9. Trapped

He had never held a gun before. Yamada’s was surprisingly heavy.

Urara stripped off the thick D.U.C.K. suit, peeling off the gloves with an audible hiss. His hat and jacket went next, joining the mass of crumpled yellow. As he straightened his cufflinks, Hopland dragged Yamada to the center of the entryway. Lifeless, the agent did not stir.

Urara fought for control, pushing down the joyous hysteria building in his chest.

“Take me to Sanada Yuki,” he said.

As Urara’s influence churned through his veins, Yamada shook his head.

“I cannot do that.”

Urara gripped the gun hard enough to hurt. “You _cannot_ do that or you _will not_ do that?”

It was his subconscious who peered through Yamada’s eyes and replied, “An individual cannot be commanded to do what is beyond their perceived limitations.”

“Yamada,” he began slowly, drawing out the name, “you consider yourself incapable of taking me to Sanada Yuki?”

The puppet nodded. “Yes.”

Urara shot him, the recoil running up his arm and curling in his shoulder, the sheer force of it erupting in a burst of sharp, concentrated pain. Adrenaline kept him on his feet, the barrel bobbing wildly as his hand shook, fingers clasping the grip erratically. His mind was reeling, spinning from the immediate, physical power of the shot.

The bullet grazed Yamada’s shoulder, bits of fabric and skin and blood skidding across the tile as the body sagged and pivoted, crumpling inwards in a careless pile.

As the front of Yamada’s shirt became stained with fresh blood, Urara released him.

“You think you’re smarter than me,” he said, watching as Yamada’s body shifted. “You _actually_ think that whatever little scheme you’ve come up with is good enough to keep him hidden from me. Human arrogance, Yamada. _Misplaced_ arrogance.”

As he writhed on the floor, it became clear that Yamada was in immense pain, his expression tight as he applied pressure to the wound, his palm slick with blood.

Urara smirked. “As you’ve noticed, Yamada, I’m a terrible shot.”

A drop of blood escaped Yamada’s hold, dripping down his shirt and marring the edge. Another escaped, the same brilliant shade of red as the last, the bright orange-red of fresh blood. Yamada staggered to his feet, his dark eyes boring into Urara’s.

“You’re lucky,” he said.

Urara tilted his head, adjusting his shot. “Oh? How so?”

Yamada smiled like Ace did. It was too wide, curling too sharply at the edges. “You’re lucky to have made it this far. You don’t understand the world you’re living in or how it works. You’ve gotten by on nothing but luck. It’s pathetic, Urara. It’s really pathetic…” As blood continued to trail down his chest, he laughed. “You honestly believe that I’m going to lose to you…”

Urara clamped down on his baser urges, banishing the image of Yamada’s split face and pulling on the visible strings, the agent immediately falling under his control. The mocking smile left Yamada’s face. The pressure on his shoulder eased.

“ _Why_ do you consider yourself incapable of taking me to Yuki?” Urara ground out. Even the memory of Ace’s smile burned him, but he refused to look away, to turn from Yamada’s unseeing eyes.

“I do not know where he is,” he replied, colour slowly draining from his face.

“And you consider yourself incapable of finding him?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Why?”

“In my current situation, I lack the appropriate tools to track him. As Nayar is a fellow D.U.C.K. agent, she would evade any efforts I made with ease.”

Hopland had mentioned Nayar before, relaying that she was another of Ace’s loyal dogs and a past student of his. She had seemed small, inconsequential.

“Nayar knows where Yuki is?” he asked, desperately clawing at the shred of information, his frenzied mind whirling.

“Yes. Nayar is the only one who knows of his true location,” Yamada confirmed. “Even the President does not have the address on file.”

“Take me to her.”

Yamada shook his head. “I cannot. I do not know where she is.”

“Contact her,” Urara ordered, grinding his teeth.

Yamada’s eyes were blank and lifeless and, as they focused on him, mocking.

“I cannot,” he said.

Urara forced his arm down, blood pouring from the open wound. Yamada’s legs shook, weak from blood loss.

“Why?” he asked.

Slowly, Yamada reached into his back pocket and pulled out a sleek yellow device. “A-As your vehicle approached the house, I broke my communicator. Nayar’s frequency is unlisted and e-even if I used Hopland’s to contact Central, no one, even the President, would have it on file.” He continued, wavering unsteadily. “M-My radio silence will alarm Nayar and, following standard procedure, she will disappear, taking Yuki with her. I lack the equipment to track her. S-She would evade my efforts with…ease…”

As Urara stared at him, watching the young man die, he saw only the mocking smile: _“You honestly believe that I’m going to lose to you…”_

Ace had tricked him, knowingly leading Hopland to the wrong address to preserve the mission’s integrity. Perhaps he did not know of Urara’s involvement, but his trap proved effective nonetheless.

Once again, he released Yamada. Immediately, Yamada applied pressure to the wound, looking at the spreading red stain in honest, visible shock.

“It was clever,” Urara admitted. “A fake safehouse for the purpose of fooling nosy D.U.C.K. members and aliens alike…. Of course, Ace was sure to make the bait even more appetizing by adding _you_. How does it feel, _Yamada_ ,” he drew out the name, imitating Ace’s usual drawl, “knowing that you’re going to die by that man’s order?”

Yamada took a labored, staggering step forward. As his expression changed, the strain breaking his controlled mask, Urara laughed.

“You can’t hurt me,” he said, the barrel pointed at the darkest part of the stain. “Maybe you can bleed on me a little, but you can’t hurt me.”

A tremor ran down Yamada’s legs and he fell forwards, his bloodied hand landing on Urara’s face as he braced himself, his weakened body trembling as it lost strength.

Before Urara, Yamada fell to his knees. His blood, the scent sharp and metallic, seeped into Urara’s skin.

“I will find Yuki,” Urara said. “Even if I have to tear your organization apart piece by piece, I will find that little mistake, the fault in your plan that will lead me to him. I will hold Yuki’s head underwater, force his mouth open, and watch the light fade from his eyes. He will know how powerless he truly is and he will suffer.”

When the agent did not immediately respond, Urara leveled the gun once more. It was then Yamada laughed, pained and soft and brittle as winter’s first ice, but it sounded all the same, entrancing in its futility.

Mocking, wretched eyes looked up at him.

“Urara, it’s over.”

\---

He did not understand.

For a blissful, terrible moment, he did not understand.

\---

Yamada’s own blood was on his shoes and dripping down his face, wet and strangely warm. Heavy, as if imbued with Yamada’s very lifeforce, it became something he wore rather than something he felt.

The silence was thick with a quiet, supernatural strength.

When Haru struck, his defenses were down, the fledgling’s will overcoming his own in a nanosecond.

In his mind’s eye, there was only Yuki, the indomitable, beautiful boy from the harbor, the one who extended a hand to him and smiled so openly, more openly than anyone else. The lure swayed and fell and sank, rushing to where waters ran pitch black and light was a distant memory. Bound to its fate, he followed.

\-------------------------

At midnight, Linda called, the sudden noise waking Yuki and causing a bleary-eyed Natsuki to mutter an impressive string of English curse words. The domesticity faded as she entered, demanding for them to pack a change of clothes and leave with her immediately. When Natsuki protested, she pulled a gun.

The car ride passed in silence. At a gas station, Linda forced them out and into a black van. She entered a moment later, sliding into the driver’s seat with a different set of clothes and a grim, drawn expression.

Natsuki was bold. “Where's Haru?” he asked.

“I will not answer that,” she replied, toneless and professional.

“Are we going to meet up with him soon?”

“I will not answer that.”

“Is he _safe_?”

“I will not answer that.”

Yuki knew he was shaking, his hand clasped tightly around Natsuki’s.

He flinched when a box under the seat suddenly shook. There were ten small holes in the side, the largest no bigger than his fingertip. From inside, he heard a familiar quack.

“T-Tapioca?”

She quacked again and shook the sealed box.

The box was surprisingly heavy when Yuki lifted it onto his lap. The side had been crudely sealed with masking tape and, after he pulled the last piece off, the top easily slide off, Tapioca’s head popping out beak first. Her feathers were ruffled, but she appeared unharmed.

Carefully, Yuki patted down her neck feathers, smiling tightly as she made a pleasant ‘coo’.

“I haven’t seen you in a long time, Tapioca,” he said. “Are you traveling with us?”

She tilted her head, glassy eyes darting around the van. She made a faint, warbling noise.

“Why is Tapioca here?” Yuki asked, the bird in his arms stilling.

He took Linda’s silence as rejection, but, after a long pause, she inhaled sharply, hands gripping the wheel with an audible creak.

“Yamada asked me to keep her safe,” she said, a flicker of _something_ crossing her face, tightening her jaw.

Yuki did not ask any more questions, cradling the bird in his arms and leaning against Natsuki’s shoulder as the van teetered and shook, the driver taking turns too fast and making the back wheels skid. The threat was unsaid, lingering in the air and pressing against them, invisible and silent and yet present all the same.

\-------------------------

“Haru, are you alright?”

“Yes,” the alien replied, his voice muffled by the wall between them. “Don’t worry, Akira. I can hold him.”

“That’s…good.”

“Akira?”

“What is it?”

“What was that noise? It was like a ‘bang’ or a ‘crash’ and it was strange…”

Akira laughed, clutching his shoulder as it began to ache. “I’ll tell you later. For now, Haru, I need you to call that number I gave you. Can you…do that for me?”

“Of course!”

Distant, he heard Haru’s bare feet pat along the tile, closely flowed by the ‘click’ of the kitchen phone. He waited until Haru’s voice returned, chirpily announcing that he was calling on Yamada’s request.

“Akira? They want to send some people over. How many people should they send?”

It took far too much effort to keep his voice steady. “I need one medical team and a…security detail. Tell them it’s serious.”

Haru complied with his usual enthusiasm, efficient but maintaining his cheerful air. With the wall between them, Akira felt like he was eavesdropping, intruding on some private, benign, _normal_ conversation.

“Akira? They want me to come in the room and help. Do you want-”

A cold emotion seized him, constricting his throat.

“Stay where you are,” he snapped, biting down a curse of pain as the pressure increased, his hand slick with blood.

If he looked down, he felt physically ill. The red was too stark, too overwhelming. If Haru’s eyes touched it, the pain would worsen, searing into his skin and leaving a shameful brand, one which spoke only of his failure and the then-faded innocence in Haru’s eyes.

“I’m fine,” he muttered. “Just…stay on the phone, Haru, and stay there. Don’t come in.”

Abruptly, his vision tilted and blurred, the neon blue of Urara’s hair melding with the plain floor and the spreading red. If his hand was free, he would have slapped himself, striking hard enough that his head snapped to the side and his jaw ached. In the corner of the room, the human-esque shape, Hopland, wearily shifted.

He was running out of time.

A surge of adrenaline got him to his feet and a flick of his limp wrist retrieved his pistol, the grip warm from Urara’s grasp. His dominant hand was incapacitated, applying the constant pressure needed to keep him alive.

As he raised the gun, tremors wracked his wrist and the throbbing in his shoulder grew insistent, a sound of pain hitching in his throat. The angle felt wrong, a mirror image of what he had practiced and knew so well. In the other room, Haru babbled with the person on the phone, telling them of the strange noise he heard earlier. Despite popular belief, silencers were not always so silent.

“Akira? The lady says the people will arrive soon. She wants me to come in and help you. Can I-”

“Stay where you are,” he snarled, leveling his shot at the patch of red-blue on the floor.

“ _Akira_? Akira, what’s happening?!”

“Stay quiet.” The curve of the trigger felt wrong, too long and too sharp in places. His senses dulled, his hand gloved in a thick, growing fog.

If he was someone else, he would have done it already. Someone with cold insides masking an even colder heart would have emptied the entire clip, watching the limp body tremble and jerk as each bullet impacted and shredded it, muscle and bone and organ alike splitting and shattering. Someone cruel would have lifted Urara’s head and taken his other eye, leaving nothing but a bare and bloodied socket to stare ahead, unblinking and raw, wreathed in torn red.

One-handed, Akira ejected the pistol's magazine and jammed it into his waistband. The temptation lingered, drawing his gaze to the lifeless slump of Urara’s shoulders and the flaking red on his face.

If Yuki had drowned, Akira would have been that someone else, the cruel one who would crush the pale throat bared to him without a second thought.

Haru’s voice was quiet, apologetic.

“Akira…?”

He sighed. “What is it now?”

“Akira, this isn’t about the phone. I just…”

“What?”

“Urara said that…you were bleeding.”

He closed his eyes, vertigo twisting the room. “Yes, he did.”

“Akira, what am I… Akira, tell me,” Haru’s tone pitched, thick with desperation, “what am I holding Urara with?”

“The same liquid from our last session.”

“But I don’t _know what that is_!? Y-You told me to leave the room and reach for it when you told me to and I did and… Akira. _Akira_ , what am I…holding…?”

Outside, tires crunched over fine gravel. The corporation Haru had called was a close affiliate of D.U.C.K.’s. They would notify his superior officers of the scene, of what had happened. A successful mission rarely came without a steep price.

“It’s my blood,” he said, the throbbing increasing to a maddening pace, echoing the desperate beating of his too-quick heart.

“Shot… Urara said… A _gunshot_. Akira, it was a gunshot and you’re…”

The phone impacted the floor with a dull crack and Haru’s bare feet slapped against the tile as he ran down the hallway, his expression surely one of panic and despair and, to Akira, the kind that inspired endless guilt.

“H-Haru,” he said, the words slurring, “I told you not to leave… D-Don’t leave the room…”

“Akira? Akira!”

Boney hands were thrust over his, pressing against the wound.

“Akira, it’s alright. I-It’s alright. The lady on the phone said the medical team is here and they will… Akira, you’re going to be okay. I-I’ll push down really hard. You’re going be...”

He muttered something in response, the warmth of Haru’s hands coiling deep in his chest. His legs gave out. In silence, he fell.

\---


	10. Drop

_“I’m a terrible friend,” Yuki said, staring at the plucked grass in his hands. “All I ever do is make things more painful for you.”_

_“It’s alright,” Akira replied, the wind tossing the tips of his hair. The wind of Enoshima had a strange, indefinable quality to it._

_Yuki snorted. “No, it’s not.”_

_The boy had a kind soul. When that call had reached him, informing the stunned agent that it was almost lost, snuffed out by the weight of the water and dragged to a dark and unreachable place, he almost collapsed, gripping the edge of his desk for support as honest dread spread through his chest. Every previous moment and year of his life seemed to pale and fade, the intensity of the moment colouring it in broad, vivid strokes._

\-------------------------

It was in the parking lot of a rundown diner that Linda received the call. Yuki was wrist-deep in the greasy bag of takeout she had bought for them, the contents making Tapioca’s feed begin to look appetizing. Natsuki was giving himself an impromptu haircut using the rearview mirror, the stray hair collecting in a plastic bag.

Linda yanked the side door open, startling Natsuki and making his next cut an inch too short.

“JFX has been captured,” she announced, a cell phone by her ear and a red-striped straw clenched between her teeth.

What followed was a flurry of activity and yelling, quacking on Tapioca’s part, and the boil-over of emotions, Yuki’s plea for Haru’s safety eclipsing all and causing Linda’s gaze to soften.

Natsuki’s hand held his, his thumbs brushing over Yuki’s knuckles.

“Haru is unharmed,” she said and Yuki felt himself deflate, the burden of his greatest fear lifting.

“What about Akira?” Natsuki asked, his grip tightening.

She paused. By their side, Tapioca went oddly still.

\-------------------------

 _“As long as you’re safe, everything is alright,” Akira said and meant every word. Before Enoshima, he lived as an imitator, one who acted and looked and physically_ was _human, but lacked the depth, the openness of heart._

_Yuki stayed with him in the calm of the garden, the blades in his hands catching the wind and fluttering away._

\-------------------------

“You can’t be serious. You…can’t….” Something wild and raw seized Natsuki’s voice. “He’s not dead. He _can’t_ …”

Agent Nayar looked at them, at the place where their hands joined.

“Yamada has been shot,” she said, “but he will live.”

\-------------------------

When the world around him began to congeal into solid shapes, the dull grey of a pillow and the smooth colourless plane of an empty whiteboard, his vision slowly sharpened, the soft fuzz fraying the edges melting into the growing clarity. He did not see any immediate threats, no drawn weapons to parry or dodge. Behind the curtain, someone was moving, pushing what sounded like a small metal cart. He heard voices, but did not understand. All sound pitched and slurred together, the wheels of the cart turning and clicking too loudly and too near.

A voice admonished him for…something.

 _“I don’t sleep well in hospital beds,”_ was what he wanted to say, but his mouth was lethargic and refused to move quite right, his response reduced to a low, pained groan.

He had been shot once before. An invader from BLX had somehow confiscated a Gatling gun and was putting holes in an apartment building. While subduing the invader had been simple enough, a sharp hit to the back of his three-horned head sending him to the floor in an unconscious and drooling heap, Akira, younger and inexperienced, hadn’t considered the actions of the invader's human lover. Enraged, she drew a pistol and fired three shots, one striking his right thigh and the other two going wild, hitting concrete.

Adrenaline had dulled the pain, but only for so long. Once its haze cleared, he was a shaking, screaming mess, shock keeping him immobile as his fellow agents bandaged the wound, each tightening of the bandages intensifying and morphing the pain. It oscillated, rising and falling so erratically that he could not steel himself, unable to retain an ounce of dignity as he wept.

It was different the second time.

He had not felt the impact, that first plunge of bullet into flesh. When his eyes had opened, it was without adrenaline to cut the pain.

He had been foolish to move around so much, agitating the already serious wound and spilling an unnecessary amount of blood. Perhaps his failed, _foolish_ , attempt to shoot the alien would cost him mobility in the arm, perhaps even robbing him of his faultless aim, his pride as an agent.

Akira was surprised to feel tears gathering in his open eyes. Ace, always _Ace_ and never George, would be inconvenienced by the loss.

For a long time, he laid perfectly still, the realization hanging over him. After announcing his early retirement, Natsuki would have something sarcastic to say, but his concern, always present and always hidden, would show through. At his side, their hands entwined, Yuki would dutifully congratulate him. Haru, bloodstained, would know the truth. He would bury it and smile alongside his friends, the light in his eyes as false as his smile. Akira would turn away, blinded by shame.

However, no matter how uncertain the future was, he would not regret taking the mission.

Ace’s original proposal had been brilliant. Nayar, a relatively unknown but talented agent, would purchase a home overseas and ‘elope’ with her new fiancé, an individual whose profile was fabricated by D.U.C.K.’s database. The safehouse's two-way security doors made a forceful invasion difficult, Nayar under strict orders to alert Yuki if her safety could potentially be compromised. The stored supplies would last the boys for weeks and, if Nayar was incapacitated, her radio silence would alert Akira to a potential threat, allowing for D.U.C.K. to intervene.

The fake safehouse would be acquired through traditional means, purchased directly by the organization and logged in the main database. The location of this safehouse would be explicitly known to only four individuals, two of which, Hopland and Ace, would act as bait for the wandering JFX. Hopland was stationed outside Enoshima with minimal guard while Ace remained at Central but with a large hole in his personal security, one JFX could easily crawl through. Of course, such irregular tactics violated D.U.C.K.'s ninth rule, but Ace was willing to behind regulation for the mission's sake

Capturing JFX using a coordinated ambush or other preferred tactics proved too great a risk. Once provoked, JFX was capable of brainwashing an entire city and, by doing so, his mental stability would worsen, potentially putting thousands of lives at risk. If Ace’s predictions of JFX’s new abilities were correct, he would prefer more focused, intimate brainwashings, preferably those of high-ranking D.U.C.K. members for easy navigation of their command structure and database.

JFX would be led to Akira. If he could not subdue JFX himself, more extreme measures would be taken to ensure Yuki’s safety and, in turn, countless other innocents.

The challenge lay in how to subdue JFX. He was too intelligent and too wary for a simple trap. Simply drenching him in water and calling for Haru or Coco to subdue him was too obvious, JFX far more knowledgeable of his kind’s abilities than any other, even those on AOX. Killing him was a gun or deadly gas was also too great a risk as, while it had been studied extensively, JFX’s physiology could react strangely or the physical shock could trigger his latent abilities, seizing and potentially harming innocents.

It was Akira who determined that JFX’s greatest weakness was his preoccupation with revenge. He was too emotional to simply kill Akira, the agent who sentenced him to countless horrors, without gloating over his victory and, hopefully, letting his guard slip.

With Haru lay the only chance of subduing JFX quietly. The emotional charge of the encounter would blind JFX to the purpose of Akira’s blood. If he had not been shot, he had been prepared to slit his wrist or stomach or neck to achieve the desired result. If the blood still would not reach JFX, he had a backup plan which was equal parts gruesome and undesirable. Thankfully, such measures had not been required.

As he had opened the door for JFX, the disabled communicator slipping into his back pocket, his only stray thought one of concern for the young alien lurking behind the kitchen door.

Something entered his field of vision and, blinking, he tried to focus on it.

One of the nurses was trying to wake him, tapping his shoulder lightly.

“Good morning, Agent Yamada,” she said. “I’m here to check your vitals. Would you mind keeping your eyes open for me?”

Before he could open his mouth and, kindly, tell her to leave him alone, a small flashlight was just inches away and in the process of blinding him. After it, thankfully, clicked off, the nurse picked up his wrist and took his pulse. She hummed a cheerful tune as she worked, occasionally asking him to lift something or answer a simple question.

“Now, Yamada, there are still traces of a strong sedative in your system…”

“I am aware,” he muttered, making a mental note to admonish Nayar for being so liberal in her dosage.

To keep the location of the actual safehouse hidden from him, Nayar would heavily sedate him. After he was unconscious, she would carry him to her car and drive to the safehouse, the sedative masking how much time the journey took or what turns the car made. After visiting the ‘captives’, the procedure would be repeated again, returning him to the fake safehouse. While he could roughly estimate that the journey took between four and eight hours each way, he was clueless as to the direction. The area was jammed with near-identical suburbs and, even if he had his tracking equipment, finding the appropriate neighbourhood could take a very, _very_ long time. Nayar's immediate flight would further complicate matters, making her too difficult to chase.

Of course, the simpler plan had been for him to avoid all contact with the ‘captives’, but, after a long argument with Ace, Akira found himself unwilling to do so. They needed to be calm. They needed him and, in turn, he needed them.

“…which is why you might feel a strong tingling in your arm when I...”

Blinking, he tried to focus on the vaguely human shape of the nurse.

“…and, oh! My, Agent Yamada, do you ever look tired. I will just get your…”

He drifted off again, his vision blurring at the edges and then going dark.

\---

He was jolted awake by a familiar voice.

“ _Yamada_ , I heard through the grapevine that _somebody’_ s been very rude to his nurses.”

“Who would that be?” he replied, dimly registering a light weight in his free hand. The lamp in the room was too bright, his eyes sore and overly sensitive.

“Yamada, the correct response would be, ‘Who would that be, _sir_?’”

There were no big purple blobs in his immediate view and Akira, unconsciously, breathed a sigh of relief that Ace was not present to physically torment him; his verbal taunts usually proved grating enough.

“With all due respect, _sir_ , I had assumed that my last mission warranted a promotion,” he said, stifling a yawn. “Perhaps I was a tad presumptuous…”

Ace barked out a laugh. “Ha! Last time I checked, attempted suicide was not grounds for promotion.”

“It _wasn’t_ suicide,” Akira mumbled, opening his eyes slowly, letting the light filter in at a controlled rate.

In his hand was a yellow tablet, the design strangely minimal for a gadget of D.U.C.K.’s. Ace’s face was plastered over the screen, a playful scowl twisting his lips.

“May I ask why a tablet, one which I did not request, is currently in my hand?” he asked.

Ace’s grin turned lecherous. “Why, the staff told me that Agent Yamada was crying out a name in his sleep! ‘Oh, Ace!’ he said, moaning and _moaning_ for the presence of this mysterious and _alluring_ Ace! Why, it was disturbing the other patients!”

Akira frowned, immune to Ace’s meaningless flirtations. “Somehow, I find that difficult to believe,” he said.

“Hmm. Well, perhaps I exaggerated a _bit_ ,” Ace admitted, twirling his blond hair around one long-nailed finger. “Anyways, the truth is that I was _dying_ to check up on you and so I thought, why, it’s utterly pointless to wait! One of the staff kindly passed along my little gadget and…here I am!”

He bit down a lecture about invasion of privacy which, considering how frequently D.U.C.K. monitored civilians and organization members alike without their consent, would seem hypocritical and cause Ace to laugh and tease him for being so narrow-minded or _prudish_. Not for the first time, Akira wondered just why _this_ was the person he was so hopelessly infatuated with.

“As you can plainly see, I’m still alive,” he observed dryly.

Although he could not see past Ace’s thick sunglasses, he suspected the older man was rolling his eyes. “Yes, I _had_ noticed that. I’m just glad you didn’t have to use your little backup plan…”

“That makes two of us,” Akira admitted. Once implemented, his chance of survival would have dropped to two percent, a full twenty points lower than if circumstances were ideal.

“Of course, I would have preferred a more predictable plan of action… You do realize that asking your superior officer to ‘ _believe in you’_ is hardly standard procedure?” Of course you did the same during the Enoshima Incident, but that's really not how missions are supposed to function...

He nodded, fixated on that narrow twenty-two percent. When accepting the mission, it had seemed so negligible.

“I’m still alive,” he muttered, his tone hushed and brushing against something intangible, perhaps his own latent fear.

Ace said nothing, tactfully waiting for the moment to pass.

“Where are… No, _how_ are Natsuki and Yuki?” he asked, pushing the dark thought away. A twenty-two percent survival rate was so low, _too_ low, and yet he had accepted it. “I trust Agent Nayar has been contacted and informed of the mission’s success. Natsuki and Yuki should be…”

“The boys are in transit,” Ace replied. “They will be arriving at D.O.V.E.’s medical facility within the hour.”

Akira dropped the tablet.

“No.”

“Hey! This is D.U.C.K. property, _Yamada_ , and I do not appreciate it, or myself, being mishandled with such…such… _carelessness_!”

“They can’t come here.”

“Well, both Usami and Sanada have a required medical exam to complete and, since our North American facilities are lacking, D.O.V.E.’s headquarters is the ideal location for it.”

“I understand,” he said, emotion constricting his throat, “but they can’t come _here_.”

“Nayar has already informed them of your injuries. There is no secret for you to protect.”

“I understand,” he said. “I…was not intending to be secretive about my…”

Ace’s silence was accusatory. Even though he couldn’t see him or hear him or understand the many thoughts flitting through his too-sharp mind, Akira knew that Ace was judging him, silently declaring him a liar. Before Ace, he was transparent.

It was unnecessary for him to speak then, but Ace was never one to leave words unsaid.

“Never do that again,” he warned, steel touching his voice.

He was glad Ace could not see him, could not perceive how his shoulders trembled and his jaw clenched, restraining the crude apology building in his throat.

“Whether or not the boys visit is ultimately your decision,” Ace said. “You _are_ a patient, Yamada, and you can always refuse.”

“I didn't have the option to refuse you,” he muttered.

Ace laughed and Akira could picture him idly tossing his hair. “Well, I _am_ your boss. I’m allowed a little extra leeway, aren’t I?”

“With all due respect, sir, you rely too heavily on your rank. One day, someone will lodge a complaint and your position will be compromised.”

“Well, that person would have to be you.”

He blinked, staring at the discarded tablet on his lap. Even at the strange angle, he could see Ace’s expression, the distorted but entrancing curve of his lips.

“Why would that be?” he asked.

When Ace laughed again, it was different somehow.

“Yamada, the only boundaries I’m interested in pushing are yours.”

\-------------------------

D.O.V.E. Headquarters was a towering blue building that tapered as it rose, forming a silhouette which, when viewed from a far distance, resembled the outstretched wing of a bird. The extensive parking lot was saturated with nondescript blue vehicles, the searing yellow of a parked D.U.C.K. armored transport breaking the uniformity.

The black van was covered in grit from the long trip and, as Yuki stepped outside, it looked noticeably civilian. Perhaps that explained the four armored guards approaching, an embossed blue wing over each of their chests.

“I thought doves were supposed to be peaceful,” Natsuki muttered, moving in front of Yuki.

“It’s standard procedure,” Linda announced as she kicked the driver’s side door open, the hinges protesting weakly. “If civilians pulled up outside any of D.U.C.K.'s Headquarters, they would receive a similar welcome.”

As she pulled out a thin yellow card from her pocket, Tapioca flopped out of the open door, her wings flapping erratically. Immediately, the demeanor of the approaching agents changed, the tallest removing his helmet.

“You must be Agent Nayar,” he said, grimacing as Tapioca pecked his foot, “and this must be Tapioca, Agent Yamada’s… _companion_.”

After a short discussion, Linda placed Yuki and Natsuki with the unmasked D.O.V.E. agent before striding away with the others, Tapioca held tightly in her arms. The remaining agent let out a sigh of relief as Tapioca disappeared indoors. While he seemed reluctant to introduce himself, Yuki did not sense hostility from him.

“Please, follow me,” he said in English, eyebrows rising when Yuki immediately grabbed Natsuki’s hand.

He led them to a different door than the one Linda had entered, the entryway wider. The walls and floor inside were the same shade of dark blue as the low furniture and the agents’ uniforms, creating a warped sense of scale and distance. Heads snapped around, scanning the intruders with clear suspicion.  Masked guards blended with the walls, their numbers difficult to discern.

“Do you think D.U.C.K. Headquarters is this weird?” Natsuki muttered quietly, his lips near Yuki’s left ear.

“Well, it’s probably more yellow,” Yuki replied, smirking when Natsuki chuckled and rolled his eyes. Natsuki’s grip tightened marginally, grounding him against the sea of strange blue.

At first, it seemed the agent was leading them to a blank section of wall. But, as he approached, edges formed and a door appeared, obediently sliding open with a gentle hiss. Yuki breathed a sigh of relief at the white hallway, glad to escape the bizarre optical illusion.

“Was that room just now designed to give people headaches?” Natsuki asked loudly, pitching the bridge of his nose and sighing.

“It’s a security measure,” the agent replied, leading them down the narrow hallway. Behind closed doors, activity could be heard. “Many extraterrestrials become physically ill when their sense of space is distorted. As attempted ambushes occur quite frequently, the blue room has proved effective.” Anticipating Yuki’s next question, he quickly added, “The one known as JF1 was brought in a different entrance.”

“He has a name,” Nasuki muttered. The agent did not respond.

\---

After entering a small clinic, two nurses immediately began prodding and poking various parts of their bodies while the D.O.V.E. agent leaned against the opposite wall and stared straight ahead with glazed eyes, clearly bored out of his mind.

“I wonder if Tapioca’s getting the same treatment,” Natsuki said, grimacing as a nurse whacked his knee with a small mallet.

“They would need a really tiny mallet for that,” Yuki observed dryly.

“If they have the energy to chatter this much,” the agent said, crossing his arms and yawning, “they’re probably fine. Can we hurry this up?”

Yuki’s nurse wore an expression of practiced patience. “Sir, we were instructed to follow standard procedure. If we cut corners now, D.U.C.K. will not be pleased,” he said. His tone softened as he turned back to the Yuki. “Can you raise your right arm for me?”

There was a sudden thump from the next room. The agent reached for the strange weapon on his shoulder, his previous fatigue gone.

Through the wall, Yuki heard a loud, familiar wail.

“I think I found Haru,” Natsuki said.

Before he could react, the door slammed open and, much to the agent’s immediate alarm, Yuki suddenly had his arms full, Haru’s head bumping against his chin as the clumsy embrace tightened. No matter how far they were from the water, the little alien always smelled of salt and open air. His fingers dug into Yuki’s sides, making his hold impossible to break.

Over the short strands of blond, Yuki looked at the D.O.V.E. agent. Slowly, the agent relaxed, clipping the strange weapon back in its original place. Yuki gave him a small smile which was hesitantly returned.

The top of Haru’s head collided with his chin for a second time, his teeth bashing together, as Haru abruptly whirled away, the nurses dodging his outstretched hands.

“Yuki! Yuki, Yuki!”

Loudly, Natsuki coughed. Haru pivoted, his eyes wide.

“Natsuki!” He tackled the taller boy, squealing when Natsuki attempted to pry him off. “Natsuki, Natsuki!!”

“I think he missed us,” Natsuki observed, cringing when Haru’s hold became too tight.

“Natsuki! Natsuki, I was having a checkup and then Agent Nayar came in the room and told me that you guys were over here and so I ran over and now I’m here! I also saw Tapioca! She pecked my finger!!” Proudly, Haru shoved his hand in Natsuki’s face, a pink bandage on the tip of his index finger.

“Are you alright?” Yuki asked, gently touching his shoulders.

Haru whipped around and nodded. “Yes! It didn’t hurt, but I wanted a Band-Aid because I like them… Agent Nayar has pink ones!”

The D.O.V.E. agent coughed purposefully. “Not to interrupt the reunion, but we _do_ have two checkups to complete. JF…” At Natsuki’s sharp glare, he corrected himself. “ _Haru_ can stay if he promises not to disturb the nurses.”

Haru raised his right hand covered his mouth with it.

“That should do the trick,” Yuki said. Natsuki nodded in agreement.

The agent did not look convinced, but he reluctantly settled back against the wall. The nurses continued their work.

                                                                                   -------------------------                                

_“It must be difficult to look at me,” Urara said, smiling, “knowing what I did to your friend.”_

\---

When he closed his eyes, Urara was there, curled in a half-moon shape on the floor, his tangled hair dipped with red. The intricate knot of his eyepatch was frayed, crusted with perspiration and pus and blood alike. Standing over him felt like power, the kind which corrupted and bred only boundless, bone-deep hate.

\---

 _“How does it feel,_ Yamada _,” he drew out the name, imitating Ace’s usual drawl, “knowing that you’re going to die by that man’s order?”_

\---

It was a difficult feeling to forget.

\---

_“Humans and their vengeful justice,” Urara mused, shaking his head._

\---

“Stupid,” he muttered, shaking off the lingering touch of sleep. There was a truth to Urara’s words, one which he could not face. “Stupid…”

\-------------------------

“I thought Akira was staying here?”

The D.O.V.E. agent nodded. “He is. Agent Yamada is in rehabilitation for wounds sustained during his mission.”

Yuki bit his lip.

“Then…why can’t we see him?”

The agent looked apologetic when he turned and said, “At this present time, Agent Yamada does not wish to have visitors.”

\---


	11. Love Lies

Once the novelty of it wore off, D.O.V.E. Headquarters quickly became one of the most boring places Yuki had ever been. The agents were uptight, some even refusing to speak to Haru without receiving a direct order to do so. The unmasked and _still_ nameless agent had provided them with a large, comfortable room to stay in, but, after the weeks of confinement they had already endured, Yuki refused to stay inside, dragging Natsuki and Haru and their reluctant guard around the base. Natsuki delighted in teasing the uptight agent and the way he held Yuki’s hand felt challenging at times.

“I bet D.U.C.K. Headquarters is far more interesting,” he said, loud enough to draw a glare from a passing agent. For affiliates of D.U.C.K., the local agents did not seem too welcoming of their presence.

“If you’re bored, maybe you should return to your room?” their guard eagerly suggested.

Yuki pretended to consider the suggestion before shaking his head. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

Natsuki leaned in, his lips touching the shell of Yuki’s ear. “You’re torturing the poor man,” he whispered.

“That’s kinda the plan,” Yuki whispered back, thinking of extremely unsexy things like dead fish smell and Ayumi’s feet to dull the tickle of Natsuki’s breath on his neck.

“You’re pretty cruel,” Natsuki said approvingly. He moved away, a pleased smile on his face, the slight curve of his dark eyelashes enthralling.

After confiscating their clothes, the agent declaring them unclean, they had each been given a spare D.O.V.E. uniform, the rank removed and a light blue band attached to the arm, declaring them ‘GUESTS’ in thick block letters. Natsuki’s collar was too tight on him and, much to Yuki’s chagrin, he left it open, the skin from his throat to just under his collarbone visible and _bared_.

Not for the first time, Yuki cursed his teenage hormones. He visualized dead fish and focused on the smell of them rotting in the sun, the baked stink forming a repugnant cloud and attracting insects of all kinds, their movements spastic as they gorged. While it definitely made him a little queasy, Natsuki remained as he was, stupidly attractive and very aware of it, his smile turning self-satisfied at Yuki’s glare.

“Yuki?”

He stopped and turned towards Haru, the alien’s expression perplexed. “What is it?” he asked.

“Why are you looking at Natsuki all the time?”

Natsuki laughed hard enough to earn three separate glares from three different D.O.V.E. agents, not including the almost-permanent glare of their guard. "T-That’s an interesting question, Haru,” he said, covering his mouth in an attempt to stifle his maniac laughter.

Tilting his head, Haru leaned closer to him and asked, “Why is what I said so funny?”                                      

Helplessly, Natsuki shook his head and continued to laugh. “It’s…difficult to explain. M-Maybe Yuki can help you with that…”

After making a mental note to enact revenge on his incredibly attractive and incredibly stupid boyfriend, Yuki wracked his brain for a sentence or two that would dissuade the curious alien. Every passing second would increase Haru’s curiosity, eventually peaking at complete obsession.

He couldn’t think of anything.

A familiar sparkle appeared in Haru’s eyes and Yuki knew that, in the next five seconds, he would be doomed to a life of constant questioning and whining and Haru hanging off his arms and asking just _why_ he wouldn’t explain the thing and-

“They’re in love.”

The guard suddenly had three looks of complete and utter shock directed at him.

He shrugged.

“It’s pretty obvious.”

“They’re _in_ love,” Haru repeated, shock covering his face, his eyes wide. “They’re in _love_ …” Suddenly, the shock vanished, sliding off and being replaced by a familiar enthusiastic glee. “Oh, wait. I already knew that!!”

Yuki was pretty sure that his jaw was on the floor.

A slightly shaken Natsuki took over, counting off on his fingers as he spoke. “First of all, Mr. D.O.V.E. Agent, don’t you think it’s a little _rude_ to blurt out personal details like that?”

He shrugged again. “As I said, it’s pretty damn obvious.”

“Second,” Natsuki continued, leveling his infamous glare at Haru, who remained unperturbed and bounced on his heels, “Haru, _how_ do you already know that?”

Haru grinned. “Like Mr. D.O.V.E. Agent said, it’s obvious! It’s obvious, Natsuki! You love each other!!”

“H-Haru,” Yuki began, his legs feeling weak, “what exactly do you mean by ‘love’?!”

“It’s like romantic or whatever.” He scrunched his forehead. “It’s boring and whatever. I don’t get it, but if you get it, then you can be in whatever with Natsuki.”

“Can this conversation be over now?” Yuki moaned. He was _definitely_ blushing and, if Haru said one more word about his love life, he would curl up and die from the embarrassment.

Haru shrugged. “Sure, whatever. Hey! What’s that?!”

As the alien ran off and inspected a large blue tube filled with liquid, ooh-ing and ahhh-ing as it rippled, Natsuki bumped his shoulder and said, “Well, that’s one way to come out of the closet.”

“I’m in the American headquarters of an international company which monitors and investigates known species of extraterrestrials, being escorted by one of their agents, and, just to make the situation all the more insane, he’s just outed me to my alien best friend while my _extremely_ supportive boyfriend just stood there and laughed.” He took a deep breath. “I’m _pretty sure_ that’s not how it’s supposed to happen.”

Natsuki grinned. “Probably not, but it’s definitely unique.”

With an exasperated sigh, Yuki rolled his eyes and replied, “I guess that’s true.” The commotion was almost enough to take his mind off Akira, the agent having refused their third visitation request earlier that morning.

As if on cue, Natsuki’s grip tightened, his hand warm.

“He’s healing well,” Natsuki said, repeating most recent update on Akira’s condition. “His mobility should come back with some time and hard work. Nothing’s been lost, Yuki.”

“That’s not what’s bothering me,” he admitted quietly, wary of how close Haru was. While Haru had grown so much in the past months, there were some things Yuki wanted to shield from him, his own insecurities high on that list. “I… I just don’t understand _why_. Why was he is so much danger? W-Why was there a _gun_ pointed at him in the first place?”

Without answers, Natsuki fell silent.

“I want to see him,” Yuki muttered, drawing on the strength and warmth of Natsuki’s hand. “I…need to know what happened.”

Natsuki leaned into him.

“That makes two of us.”

\-------------------------

 “You’re acting like a child.”

“I will not respond to that.”

“Yamada, I’m one snide comment away from _ordering_ you to grow a damn spine.”

“I thought I told you to stay out of my personal affairs.”

“And _I_ distinctly recall informing you that I chose to ignore your little boundaries and will continue doing as I please. Now, _Yamada_ , by the power invested in me by the great organization of D.U.C.K., the defenders of mankind and-”

He turned off the tablet and threw it across the room, the device impacting with the far wall and dropping to the floor. Ace’s image flickered and vanished.

He had a blessed four hours of quiet before the door slammed open and Ace strode in, his orange coat billowing out behind him and his expression one of unrestrained, tumultuous rage.

“You would not _believe_ my flight over here.” He kicked the door shut with more force than necessary, leaving a black scuff from the toe of his pointed boot. “The turbulence was absolutely insane and the dimwit of a pilot tried to turn the plane around and so, faced with _no_ other option, I had to kick him out and do the damn thing myself. Of course, the radio tower wouldn’t give me clearance so _that_ turned into an argument and this pinhead kept asking for my license and registration and, like, do they honestly expect to give _me_ a _parking ticket_ or something for landing their own damn plane and…” The visible vein on his forehead began to throb. “Why am I rambling to _you_ of all people?” he muttered, his whirlwind focus shifting.

With a slender hand, he touched the broken tablet, the screen cracked down the middle.

“This is the first time a gift of mine has been rejected,” he said. If Akira strained, he could make out Ace’s reflection in the broken screen. As he traced the path of the crack, his jaw clenched.

“You think too highly of yourself,” Akira said, turning away.

He did not see Ace approach, but he heard him, the sharp intake of his breath and the ‘clank’ his heels made as they struck the tile. Every fiber of his being pulled for him to turn, survival instincts screaming as Ace drew too near, a clawed hand hovering inches from his throat.

“That’s not true,” he hissed, nails scraping against skin as he grabbed Akira’s collar and pulled, the sudden motion jarring his wounded shoulder. Akira did not react, his eyes loosely focused on the fall of the curtain. “The problem, Yamada, is that I think too highly of _you_.”

To achieve his desired angle, Ace had to perch over him, one knee by his hip and creating a sharp dip in the mattress, one which seemed too direct and too _intimate_ for Ace. Ace sought entertainment in things and in people, pulling their strings until they moved just right, but always, _always_ , kept his distance, using only words and never touch. With ease, he could discard the strings, allowing them to grow loose and fall without consequence, idle flirtation and hollow insults drifting from thought.

For a long time, Akira had waited to be discarded. As he looked into the dark of Ace’s sunglasses, his own tight expression reflected back, he wondered if this was the moment that broke the familiarity between them, leaving nothing behind but jagged shards of memory. Ace’s disinterest would make pining for him simpler, something Akira could rationalize as a foolish, one-sided crush. There were times when Ace looked at him and a narrow sliver of possibility showed through, his eyes too soft and their usual focus dimmed, veiled by an intangible, overwhelming emotion. When Akira met that gaze, he found himself warm and hopeful, a foolish euphoria seizing him.

With a heavy sigh, Ace dropped him and swung his leg off the bed.

“You have to be the _stupidest_ , most bull-headed, thick-skulled, dim-witted, foolish, densest, most aggravating, stupid, _stupid_ person I have ever met,” he announced, coat trailing behind him as he paced erratically, his heels clicking sharply.

“That contradicts your earlier statement,” Akira said. The throbbing in his shoulder subsided, returning to a dull ache. Despite the associated pain, taking another shot to the shoulder would have been preferable to the current conversation.

Ace ignored him. “You’re such a fool,” he muttered.

“I can’t believe you came all this way just to insult me.”

“Considering that most of our conversations end in a shouting match, I don’t see why that would surprise you.”

“I…. Ace, _why_ are you even here?”                

Every feature of Ace’s was etched in his memory. He was beautiful in a sculpted, unobtainable way, but even beauty like that hardly afforded a passing glance, the immediate impression dulling and fading with each step past. Peerless, Ace’s innate, intrinsic charisma carried him, making each facet and curve of his face all the more reactive, displaying a distorted reflection of his true self. Expression was the medium through which souls unveiled themselves, depravity turning even the most elegant features into a wasted mass of flesh. Ace was not always beautiful and he gladly spent every waking hour lying through his teeth, but there was a deeper honesty to him, one which Akira found himself enthralled with.

Ace continued to mull over his question, muttering under his breath as he paced. Finally, he turned and said, “That doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

Chuckling, he replied, “No, not really. It _bothers_ you, but it does not _matter_ to you.”

“I was not aware of your telepathy...”

Something akin to humor turned Ace’s lips, but it was not a true smile, lacking the usual energy and wit. Despite his fanatical hatred for liars, Ace was unmatched in deception, his hypocrisy blissfully ignored and waved away with an idle hand.

“When you were shot by JFX,” he began, Akira biting back a curse, “you were not afraid, and yet, as you lie here, you’re saturated in fear. Yamada,” he turned, yellowed light trailing down his face, tracing the deep curve of his cheekbones, “you are a very foolish man.” It was a declaration, one which Akira could not question; the truth branded him, the tension manifesting as a sudden, maddening itch.

Ace’s gaze was too perceptive, peeling back his skin and examining the underneath, his secrets bared.

“You’re wrong,” he said, painfully aware of how open he was.

Ace laughed. “That’s unlikely.” At Akira’s silence, he continued. “Now, the question is _why_ one of my dearest agents is so afraid of…seemingly nothing? Your mental evaluation came back showing no apparent signs of trauma. Of course, those things _can_ take an awfully long time to pop up, but I have a little hunch that isn’t it.”

“Then what is it?”

He caught Ace off guard, his head tilting in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“Since you apparently know _everything_ about me, then what is it? W-What’s wrong with me? You know, don’t you? But, instead of just saying it, you have to skirt around the issue and drag it out needlessly. I can’t believe you’re the one I’ve…” He stopped there, pulling back on _‘the one I’ve fallen for’_.

Unphased by his outburst, Ace crossed his arms haughtily and replied, “I don’t need to tell you, Yamada. You already know, but, instead of facing your problems, you’ve elected to run and hide. It’s pathetic.”

If he was not experienced with extraterrestrials and the unexpected, Ace’s behaviour would have thrown him off, leaving him with nothing but an expression of shock and a few choice curse words.

Finally, he looked at Ace, searching for the eyes beneath the sunglasses.

“I was going to die,” he said.

\---

_“As long as you’re safe, everything is alright.”_

\---

“Those left behind would…mourn the loss,” Ace muttered.

“That’s not it.” His shoulder _ached_. “I could accept that, difficult as it may be. But, I…” His voice trembled, buried emotion seeping through. “It was too easy to accept that mission. I… I didn’t _care_ if it killed me as long as they were alright. I-I’ve never felt so strongly about anything before.”

The mattress dipped under Ace’s weight. He sat on the edge, his hip by Akira’s left knee.

“That doesn’t make you weak,” he said.

Akira closed his eyes.

“I was out of my mind. I wasn’t thinking clearly when Urara arrived or even after he shot me. None of it mattered…”

Ace repeated himself. “That doesn’t make you weak,” he said. Then, he sighed. “Akira, I’m going to tell you something very important and you must never forget it, understood?”

He nodded. Ace continued.

“Our greatest flaw is our humanity and yet it is also our greatest strength. _Never_ forget how it felt to truly care for someone, no matter how painful it may be.” Wearily, Ace removed his sunglasses and rubbed at his eyes, the eyeshadow there already smudged and faded. “Perhaps accepting the mission was easy for you, but it was very difficult for me.”

“I’m sorry,” Akira said even though he wasn’t quite sure what he was apologizing for.

Laughing, Ace closed his eyes, glasses held loosely in one hand.

“Apology accepted, Yamada.”

\-------------------------

Their fourth request for visitation was approved and Haru cartwheeled into the room, nearly knocking over a tall blond man in the process. While Haru _gently_ greeted Akira, his affections limited to handholding and the occasional jump or squeal, the man fumbled with his dark sunglasses and once they were firmly in place, Yuki recognized him.

Unfortunately, Natsuki did too.

Before something embarrassing could come out of his mouth, Yuki elbowed him in the ribs, smiling pleasantly when President Ace raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

“H-H-How do you do, _sir_?” Natsuki muttered, discreetly jabbing Yuki with his sharper, bonier elbow.

“Jet lagged,” Ace replied, his eyebrow going higher as Yuki, seeking revenge, stepped on Natsuki’s foot. “You two have to be the _most_ undisciplined D.O.V.E. agents I have ever seen, and that’s _including_ Haru.”

Eager to show off his armband, Haru cartwheeled back across the room, his foot coming dangerously close to Yuki’s face. “We’re guests!” he announced, Ace flinching when his personal space was abruptly invaded by an enthusiastic alien. “See, it says so right here!”

“Yes, of course,” he muttered, gently pointing Haru in the opposite direction and stepping back when Haru eagerly leapt to Akira’s side. “While I would _love_ to stay for the circus, I do have a flight to catch. I will see you boys later,” he said, although Yuki wasn’t sure when this ‘later’ would be.

After Ace’s orange coattails disappeared around the doorframe, Natsuki muttered in Yuki’s ear, “He was awfully quick to leave…”

“I’m sure he was simply eager to avoid interrogation,” Yuki replied. “You _do_ tease Akira about his crush a little too much.”

Shrugging, Natsuki walked to the end of Akira’s bed. Underneath his usual roguish grin was relief, the only physical mark of Akira’s injuries being the tight sling on his right arm. _“Nothing’s been lost,”_ he had told Yuki earlier, but it was only now as they stood before Akira and saw him with their own eyes that the words seemed to ring true.

Haru was strangely quiet, muttering a long string of words into Akira’s ear as the older man nodded and patiently listened. Perhaps his previous theatrics had been for show, masking his own concerns and also subduing those of Yuki and Natsuki.

“Yes, Haru, that’s fine,” Akira said, his voice hoarse. “I understand and…thank you.”

Beaming, Haru gave him a hug, careful of where he placed his hands.

“What are you two talking about?” Natsuki asked.

“I said ‘thank you’ and other stuff,” Haru announced, his eyes bright as he pulled away.

Although he was puzzled, Yuki shrugged and dropped the topic, choosing to focus on more immediate concerns.  “How are you feeling?” he asked Akira, matching his small grin.

“I’m currently offended by Natsuki’s indecent attire,” Akira replied.

Natsuki scoffed. “The collar’s too tight. What do you except me to do, choke myself? Also, for a person who was just _shot_ , should that really be your greatest concern?”

Akira beamed. “Why Natsuki, I didn’t know you cared!”

“Of course I do you stupid…” Dragging his hands through his hair, Natsuki groaned. “You really are stupid.”

Frowning, Akira replied, “That’s the second time someone’s told me that today. I thought visitors were _supposed_ to be nice to the bedridden.”

“Maybe your next visitor will be,” Natsuki said and, as if summoned, a familiar face appeared around the doorway, her beak open in a celebratory quack.

Although Akira would vehemently deny it afterwards, a single tear trailed down his cheek as he embraced his beloved companion, the tip of her beak nestled in the crook of his arm.

“Tapioca loves you!” Haru declared, clapping his hands together.

“Of course she does,” Akira muttered, stroking her ruffled feathers.

He looked so happy that Yuki couldn’t mention painful things, saving his questions for just _why_ Akira was shot for a later date. Natsuki was the same, teasing Akira for being so enamored with a bird and asking if his ‘significant other’ was aware of their little affair. While Haru laughed along, squealing when Akira turned bright red, he was too shrill and too _aware_ , always laughing when Yuki glanced his way. The truth remained hidden from Yuki’s sight, buried under Akira’s grin and Haru’s sudden laugh.

Yet, despite the lurking and dangerous unknown, Yuki felt calm, the joy of his friends, his _safe_ friends, intoxicating and making him laugh along even if it sounded forced and hollow to his own ears.

\---

Once Akira was well enough to, he was flown to D.U.C.K.’s Central Headquarters for rehabilitation. Watching him leave felt comforting in a strange way, the sight of his retreating back as familiar as his unlisted number and the timber of his voice over the phone.

As the armored D.U.C.K. vehicle vanished from sight, the speck of yellow growing smaller and smaller until it simply faded, Linda turned and presented them with two plane tickets. One went to Haru and the other to himself, Natsuki’s hands noticeably empty.

“I have to clear some things up with my sponsor first,” Natsuki explained, wilting under Yuki’s curious stare, “but t-then I’m going to be… I-I’ve decided to move back and-”

“I’ll be waiting for you in Enoshima,” Yuki said. “Don’t make me wait too long, okay?”

Natsuki kissed him, hands tangling in his too-long hair and trailing down his neck. It didn’t feel like a goodbye.

\---

“I guess it’s just you and me now,” Yuki said, staring at the many terminals and trying to match the symbols on their tickets to the right one. Linda had left earlier, stiffly nodding as she pulled the van away.

“I like airports,” Haru declared, their bags over his shoulders. They were mostly empty, containing a few books for the flight and a pair of toothbrushes.  “People-watching is fun!”

Of course, most of the people were looking at them.

D.O.V.E. had been reluctant to return their clothes, citing the possibility of alien contamination (which was to be expected since Haru _was_ an alien), and they were ‘graciously’ allowed to keep their borrowed uniforms, provided the blue armbands stayed in place. One young boy had approached them and asked if they were from the military, which gave Yuki the disturbing mental image of Haru piloting a jet and doing barrel rolls. Equally disturbing was the observation of the boy’s younger sister who said Haru looked like a boy band member and wanted his autograph, which he eagerly gave despite Yuki’s protests.

After finding their gate, they waited for the flight to arrive, Haru spreading out across three of the seats and napping. When his snoring disturbed the other passengers, Yuki pinched his nose shut until he woke up.

“Are we in Enoshima yet?” he asked, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

Yuki sighed. “Haru, we aren’t even on the _plane_ yet.”

“We could’ve teleported!”

“That’s…unlikely.”

Pouting, Haru crawled over his shoulder and peered at his cell phone. Before leaving, Akira returned their confiscated phones and said that their fishing gear was waiting for them back in Enoshima, the look of gratitude on Natsuki’s face completely genuine as he thanked him.

“Whatcha doing, Yuki?” Haru asked. When he reached for the screen, Yuk swatted his hand away, wary of mixing technology with Haru.

“Grandma just sent me a message. Apparently she was staying outside Paris with a retired D.U.C.K. agent and had a ‘wonderful time’,” Yuki said, scrolling past the numerous images of the beautiful cottage she had sent him. “I can’t believe we were locked in a basement while Grandma got a free vacation…”

“France is pretty,” Haru said, pointing at a shot of the pink rose garden outside the cottage. “It has flowers!” He suddenly perked up, reaching for the phone again. “Hey, where did Coco stay?”

Yuki frowned and scrolled through his messages. “I _think_ she was at Central Headquarters, but she says she moved around a lot. Apparently they kept her pretty busy…”

“Hey, Yuki?”

“What?”

“Are we there yet?”

\---

“Yukiiiiii…”

“ _What_?”

“Are we there yet?”

“Haru, we’re still on the plane.”

“…”

“Yukiiiii…”

“Haru, no-”

“Yuki, are we there yet?”

\---

“”Yuuuukiiiii, are we there-”

“Yes,” he snapped, yanking their bags out of the cab while Haru twirled on the sidewalk. Apparently, aliens were immune to jet lag.

The sun was too bright and the heat sank into his skin, but, even with the discomfort of a pounding headache and the roll of sweat down his back, the little peaked roof of his grandmother’s house stood before him and was so beautiful that the fatigue and heat slid right off him, leaving him transfixed and in complete awe. The curling vines were dark and green, their flowers out of season. Cobblestones guided him to the front door, bits of grass poking through the narrow gaps.

An unfamiliar space was on the nameplate, a space where something, _someone_ , used to be. The three names remaining were of those he cherished, but the blank space, small as it may be, touched him all the same.

Self-conscious as always, Urara had disliked his messy scrawl. “ _I-It’s not worth…being there,”_ he mumbled, twisting his flyaway hair.

Yuki laid his palm flat on the empty space.

“You were wrong,” he said. “It’s supposed to be here, but it’s not…” He bowed his head, biting back a sob or a scream or whatever jagged piece of emotion dug into him then, a tremor racing down his wrist and coiling in his palm, touching the space were Urara’s name _should_ have been.

Quietly, Haru muttered his name.

“I’m fine,” Yuki said. “I…really am. It’s just…”

Haru was too close, his eyes too open.

“Just what?”

Sighing, Yuki told him the truth. “It’s really sad, isn’t it? Everything that’s happened is just so… _sad_.”

Taking Yuki’s hands in his, their bags lying forgotten on the front step, Haru smiled.

“You’re right,” he said, his smile tight at the edges, _forced_. “It’s sad.”

\-------------------------

As Ace was no longer confident in D.U.C.K.’s facilities, JFX was formally transferred to AOX’s custody. Within hours of D.U.C.K.’s request, an empty saucer landed and used its automated restraints to secure the unconscious individual. When Ace had made idle threats at the radio, hinting at dire consequences for AOX if JFX ever returned to their planet, the warden laughed and soothed his worries with a cryptic remark: “ _The day he escapes is the day all waters run dry, Mr. Ace.”_

Even as the saucer left orbit and sped out of traceable range, Ace’s face remained set in a heavy frown. As he entered his office, Akira a step behind, he dimmed the lights and sank into the massive desk chair.

It was rare for Ace to be so subdued, his head cradled in his hands.

With his unbound hand, Akira prodded him in the shoulder.

“Stop that,” Ace muttered.

“I’m checking if you’re still alive.”

“You could just _ask_. Furthermore,” he straightened, his movements stiff, “ _why_ are you here? You’re injured, Yamada. Go home.”

“No.”

“Disobeying a direct order is grounds for… Oh, _whatever_. I’m too tired to argue with an idiot like _you_.” When Akira pulled out a chair, settled in front of the desk, and crossed his legs, Ace sighed loudly and slumped over. “ _Why_ are you still here?”

Grinning in defiance, Akira replied, “That doesn’t matter.”

“You cheeky little…” Ace groaned, dragging his hands through his hair, strands catching on his large rings and tearing. “Okay, fine. I’ll just get it over with then. I did not enjoy seeing JFX today. Seeing him again… _reminded_ me of a difficult time.”

\---

_“Perhaps accepting the mission was easy for you, but it was very difficult for me.”_

\---

“You care about me,” Akira said, his voice betrayed him, a hint of awe touching the words.

Wearily, Ace removed his sunglasses and rubbed at his eyes, the eyeshadow there already smudged and faded. “You’re so unbelievably dense,” he muttered.

“I…apologize.”

“ _Don’t_ apologize,” Ace snapped. “Just…sit there and distract me for awhile. Say something, _anything_.”

Akira had much he wanted to say, a confession forming. The _hope_ he felt was dizzying and dared him to succumb, manifesting as a taunting, giddy warmth in his chest.

His heartbeat quickened and, slowly, he smiled.

\-------------------------


	12. Shoreline

The fourth moon’s tale was told to fledglings to make them behave. Even when he was young, his fins undeveloped and barely capable of movement, weakly slapping the water rather than parting it, Urara had doubted its validity. The warden told of an ancient aquatic being who lurked in the moon’s depths, growing old, wise, and powerful. The being was the last of its kind, neither male nor female, incapable of asexual reproduction, and, the most damning of all, uninterested in repopulating the empty waters, content to live in silence amongst dead rock and sand.

An anomaly made the moon’s gravitational pull too strong, the early saucers careening into its orbit and pulled down, sinking into the being’s lair. A will of unfathomable, ancient strength seized them, binding them to eternal, unbreakable servitude.

The being’s halo was square-shaped and hovered above the moon, its breadth stretching into the dark of space.

Urara glanced down at the saucer’s controls and found them locked on a collision course.

Before him, the halo burned.

\-------------------------

The sunset was orange-red, the vibrancy intensifying as the sun slowly sank.

Natsuki’s hand was in his, their fingers interlaced.

For a long time, he stood there, staring at the waves as they lapped in. The weight of Natsuki’s hand grounded him, steadying him as colour faded from the sky and night fell.

Finally, he said it.

“Urara’s gone. He’s…not coming back.”

Natsuki nodded.

“I…” He bit his lip. “I miss him sometimes. That’s wrong, isn’t it?”

Natsuki’s grip tightened.

“No,” he said.

After parting ways, a kiss lingering on Yuki’s lips, the moon was out in full.

For a long time, he stood in the backyard, head thrown back and eyes wide. The sight was familiar, but, for weeks on end, it had sifted unseen and in silence. He couldn’t name the constellations like Natsuki could or feel for rain like Haru. Akira knew of famous astronomers and their discoveries, and, if asked, he would gladly dramatize their lives in a proud, booming voice.

To Yuki, the scattered stars appeared as they always did. The motion of the moon had made it full.

Urara was under a different sky. He wanted to feel relief, but could only embrace sorrow.

\-------------------------

In the depths, there would be no solace, but perhaps he would find a new way of being, one which embraced its chains and ceased to be a wandering wave.

\-------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> This was my misguided foray into the world of angst and meandering, tone-deaf dialogue. I meant to have it completed for the first anniversary of Tsuritama, but then my 3,000 word oneshot suddenly morphed into a gluttonous beast that ate all my free time. So, yeah. 
> 
> Also, Akira totally confesses to Ace and then, shortly afterwards, he starts wearing eyeshadow and Natsuki teases him about it for like an hour straight.
> 
> Anyways, thanks again for reading!!


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